


Watch Us Go

by crossingwinter



Series: Everyone's Watching [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Humor, POV Multiple, Romance, Sexual Content, The sequel where the smut happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:16:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 41,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/639729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa glared at Arya for a moment, then began to laugh.  She laughed so hard that she had to put her wine glass down for fear that she would end up spilling it everywhere.</p><p>“I can’t tell if I think we’re ridiculous or not,” she gasped at last.  “Antagonizing each other into spilling emotions.”</p><p>A continuation of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/575007/chapters/1030724">Watching You Watching Me</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arya

**Author's Note:**

> If you have not done so, I highly recommend reading [Watching You Watching Me](http://archiveofourown.org/works/575007/chapters/1030724). It provides a great deal of relevant plot and context for this story. I don't know how this will read without that story as context. (It's also a fun read.)
> 
> Additionally, there is nothing explicitly Non-Con in this fic, but there are implications about things in the past.  
> So I am providing a trigger warning.

**February - Oldtown**

There were many things that Arya liked about being with Gendry.

Feeling his weight pressed down on top of her with such force that she couldn’t move at all, for example.  She remembered joking with him once that he was bigger and stronger than she was, and could probably beat her up (depending on whether or not she could outrun him).  She liked that the only way that ever manifested itself was when his tongue was in her mouth, his hands in her hair, and his cock pressed up against her through several layers of clothes.

What she liked even more was that, even when he pinned her down, the slightest pressure on one side or another would cause him to roll back over and pull her on top of him.

What she didn’t like about this was a little thing—more specifically the fact that she was so little and he was positively a giant.  When they stood next to each other, the top of her head brushed up somewhere between his (very nice) pectoral muscles, and so when they were lying together on his bed—trying so desperately to line up with each other—it invariably ended either with his giving up or with him having to pull away from her slightly so that his lips and cock could both be satisfied.  Not that they had had sex yet.

But back to things she liked, because they were more fun, and when Gendry’s lips were on her collarbone like that, she didn’t like thinking about things that frustrated her.

She liked that the first time she had taken off his shirt (and those muscles she had watched through binoculars for such a long time were infinitely better in person) he hadn’t gotten some sort of idiotic sense of nobility the way she had thought he would, but had pulled her on top of him so that she could get a better view and kiss her way up and down his chest.

She liked that his bed was big enough for both of them, and that she was more confident in its capacity to support their weight when they were rolling about on top of it.  (Her bed had almost broken the first time that they had ended up prone on top of it.)  She liked falling asleep next to him and waking up next to him, feeling the heat of him beside her.

She liked that he let her decide when she was ready to do things (taking off his shirt, or pulling his large— _large—_ hands to her rather undersized breasts) and that sometimes the things she was ready to try made his eyes roll up into the back of his head.  The Saturday morning, for example, when she had found his cock not trapped beneath grease-stained jeans or old corduroys but rather, not so much trapped as contained, within a pair of ratty sweatpants and she had slipped her hand boldly right down the front to stroke him.  His eyes had rolled into the back of his head, he had emitted a something between a groan and a growl, and he had pushed his hips firmly towards her hand.

She liked that she sometimes got texts from Jon saying things along the lines of _Please, gods help me, wait until I’m at work_ , or _can’t you do this at your house? It’s disturbing to me._

But most of all, she liked being able to tell him all this when they were done with their canoodling.  She liked the way his deep blue eyes would soften and make her feel every bit as silly as she had once accused Sansa of being over Joffrey.

No wonder Arya had not done as well on her finals at the end of her first term as anyone had expected.  Of course, her parents, her siblings, and even her faculty advisor attributed it to Sansa’s breakdown near the end of the semester—something that would have undoubtedly distressed her younger sister, the family member upon whom Sansa undoubtedly relied the most since they lived together.

To be fair, that had distressed her tremendously in the weeks surrounding her final exams.  She had spent hours sitting quietly with Sansa, pretending to do something, but watching her carefully out of the corner of her eye.  But her fear that her sister would break down again had not distracted her from her work.

But Gendry’s very fine abdomen, his sensational lips, and the look in his big blue eyes that reminded her of Nymeria when she and Arya were alone, were what had made Arya so wholly unable to focus when preparing for finals.

“I don’t want to get up,” she mumbled into his shoulder.  She felt his chuckle before she heard it, his stomach muscles flexing beneath her.

“I suppose I could just keep you here.”  His voice was smiling.  She groaned again, trying to calm her the pounding of her heart against her chest.  It was beating harder than when she had competed at the Winterfell Championships last spring.  But this time, it was not nerves that had her heart racing.

“I told Ned that I’d help him with his Intro homework.  I’m the only linguistics major he knows and he’s panicking about the international phonetic alphabet.”

“Isn’t this what his TA is for?  I mean, speaking as a TA, I know that that’s what we’re here for.”

“His TA is incompetent.”

“How on earth do you know that?”

“She gave him completely wrong information about morphology.  He was the only one in his section that did all right on his midterm and that’s because I told him to ignore what she had said.”

“All the same.  He’s been panicking about that all semester.  He should get over it and leave you to me.”

“That’s because he’s from the south and he doesn’t get vowels.  Which are admittedly challenging, but he can’t hear the difference between some basic ones because they don’t exist in southern accents and so he can’t hear them and it freaks him out, even though no one will really give a damn about it.”

“Well, you should tell him that.  Via text message so you don’t have to leave.”

“As appealing as that is, I’d feel bad.  I can make it up to you later though.”  She nipped at his neck—a little less gently than she might have once.  She found that she quite liked giving him hickies—especially after he had mentioned how annoying it was to try and hide them from his students.

“Hey!  Stop that!”

She giggled (yes, giggled.  She had a boyfriend who made her giggle) and made to get up.  But his arms were around her and that drastically limited her movement.

“How do you plan to make it up to me?”  One of his eyebrows was arched and the smile playing across his lips almost made her shiver.

“I’ll think of something good.”  She glanced away from him, her smile slipping ever so slightly.

“Hey, look at me.  You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“That thing.  When you get all distant.”

“I don’t get all distant.  I’m right on top of you.  How can I be getting distant?”

Gendry rolled his eyes.  “You know precisely what I mean.”

She did.  But she didn’t want to deal with that now. 

As if he had heard the thought, Gendry teased, “You’re going to have to deal with it one day.”

She bit her lip, and she saw the corner of Gendry’s eye twitch the way it did when she bit her lip.  “I just don’t know how yet, and I’ll figure it out.  It’s not a nervous about what we’re doing thing, it’s a I need to think about linguistics thing.”

“All right.”

“See?  I’m getting better at it.”

“That’s very good.”  Gendry sat up slightly and pressed his lips to hers.  When his hands slid down her back to her hips, she moved.

Gendry might be bigger and stronger, but she was faster.  She had yanked herself loose of his hands and lips before she could convince herself not to do it.

She pulled her discarded sweatshirt over her head and smiled at him.  He was lying on his back, his torso propped up on his elbows.  His hair was delightfully disheveled and she could indeed see the beginnings of a hicky on his neck.  “See you in a bit,” she promised, then darted out the door.

When she reached Ned’s dorm room, his light blond hair was standing on end from all the times he had run his hands through it.  It looked a little bit like it might fly off his head.

“All right,” she said, sitting down next to him and pulling off her sweatshirt again.  “Merry, Marry, and Mary.  Which one’s which?”

He did not answer her.  “Arya, that is the biggest hicky I have ever seen in my life.”

Arya’s hand flew to her neck.

She didn’t get hickies.  It was one of the things she liked best—that Gendry did and she didn’t. 

“There’s a mirror in the bathroom,” suggested Ned, and she was back on her feet and flying out the door again.

It was massive, spreading from just below her ear down to the spot where her collarbones met.  She pulled out her phone.

_Arya Stark: I’m going to murder you._

_Gendry Waters: That wasn’t precisely what I had in mind when you said you’d make it up to me._

_Arya Stark: You could have warned me._

_Gendry Waters: Where would the fun in that be?  You never warn me about mine.  Thanks for the new one, by the way._

She returned to Ned’s room and pulled her sweatshirt back over her head, tugging the hood in a way that (she hoped) would obscure the bruise.

“Who did it then?” asked Ned, a teasing smile curving his lips.

“None of your business.”

“I’m your friend, Arya.  You bet it’s my business.”

“You don’t know him?”

“Then it won’t matter if I know who he is.”

“All right, you do know him.  But I’m not telling you because you don’t want to know.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because.”

“That’s a reason.  Not a good one, but a reason.”

“Shut up, stupid.  Marry, merry, and Mary.  Which one is which?”

“Marry’s the weird a-e thing—”

“Correct.”

“Merry’s the backwards loopy e thing—”

“Yes.”

“And Mary’s the backwards loopy e thing with a schwa right after it.”

“That’s right.”

“Now who’ve you been going with.  Come on now.  I promise I won’t go crazy or anything.”

Arya cocked her head.  Telling Ned would be very funny.  Gendry had been his TA last semester.  Indeed, Ned had spent most of the semester stalking Gendry, determined to win a bet about whether Gendry was gay—a bet that he had lost.  But on the other hand…She and Gendry hadn’t really told anyone.  She had only told Sansa about a week ago, and she and Gendry had been going out for almost two months at that point.  Jon had figured out pretty quickly, and Daemon and Aurane knew because they heard the moans and Daemon had caught her sneaking out of Gendry’s room one morning, but as far as she knew Roslin still didn’t know.  She hadn’t even told her parents. 

If she told Ned, the fencing team would know and she wasn’t sure she wanted that.

Her phone buzzed.

_Gendry Waters: Mum’s pleased.  She’s been wanting updates ever since I told her that I was having lecherous tendencies towards you._

_Arya Stark: I might tell Ned.  Shall photo-document his reaction for your amusement._

“Arya?  Don’t make me fetch my épée.  I’ll duel you for the knowledge and we both know I’d win.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I’m older, stronger, faster, and better than you.  Let’s be real, shall we?”

Arya pressed the camera button on her phone, and waited or it to load.

“You also aren’t used to sideswipes.”

“Come on Arya.  I won’t help with your Joffrey Plot if—”

“All right, all right.  It’s Gendry Waters.”

Ned’s jaw dropped.  Arya clicked the button again and sent the photo to Gendry.

“You’re joking.”  Ned did not sound as though he had convinced himself of that.

“Nope.”

“You can’t be.”

“I am.”

“But he’s a TA.”

“He’s not my TA.  I’m not going to take any of his stupid anthropology courses.”

Her phone buzzed.

_Gendry Waters: Excellent._

_Arya Stark: Ned still doesn’t believe me._

“For how long then?”

“Since Sansa’s panic attack.”

“You were dating my TA during finals last semester and you _didn’t tell me?_ ”

“What good would it have done you?”

“I would have been more chummy with you, and he would have given me a better grade."

Her phone buzzed.

_Gendry Waters: More fool him.  I thought I gave enough proof of that on your neck._

_Arya Stark: He believes me now.  Is annoyed that I didn’t get him a better grade._

_Gendry Waters:  I did give him a better grade because of you.  You didn’t want to date him.  I was suddenly taken with how uncharitable I had been to his intellectual tendencies._

_Arya Stark: I think I shan’t tell him that._

_Gendry Waters: Probably a good idea._

“Anything else you want to tell me?  Are you Syrio’s long lost daughter or something?”

“Nope, I think I’m good.  Do you have any giant secrets to tell me, since we’re sharing?”

“Probably.  But I’m in too great a shock to think of them.”

“Fair enough.  “Palm, lot, and goat.  What are the vowels?”


	2. Sansa

She had placed a filter on her email so that anything that came from Joffrey would be automatically deleted.  She had called the phone company and made sure that his number was blocked from sending messages to her phone.  She carried her phone charger everywhere she went, just in case.  But most importantly, Sansa always walked with someone.  She wasn’t stupid.

She had made the resolution in the beginning of January, when she had been safely snuggled with Bran, Summer, Arya, and Nymeria by the fireside in Winterfell.  She would _not_ let every ounce of fear that she had ever felt dominate her, beat her into submission.  She had told this to her sister, who had approved and continued her profession of the fencing team’s support.  For the first time since April, she felt—not brave, but not wholly broken.  She wouldn’t run from her fear—she would face it like a Stark of Winterfell.

She had seen Joffrey exactly twice in the month since the term had started.  Once had been when she had been buying textbooks.  There had been sixty-eight or so students crammed into the tiny bookstore and she was with Roslin and Arya.  She had noticed him immediately, and ducked behind Roslin—the tallest of their party—and put her hat back on so that her noticeable auburn hair would be obscured.  She figured he might not notice her right away anyway—she had cut her hair quite short after December’s panic attack, when she had pulled half of it out.  It wasn’t as short as Arya’s, but it was layered in a way that she could only describe as “edgy.”

Arya had seen him next, and moved to stand on her other side.  Joffrey had never seen Arya before though, and he hadn’t noticed their group when he left.

He _had_ seen her the second time though.  She had felt his eyes following her the first time she stepped into her lecture on the Scientific Reformation.

She had dropped the class that afternoon.  Indeed, she dropped it while sitting in the lecture, tapping away notes, wishing that Joffrey hadn’t signed up to take the class.  She then sent Tyrion Lannister an email, asking if there was some way she could do research for credit with him.  He had replied in less than five minutes, copying the University Registrar, agreeing.

When the lecture had ended, she hailed one of Arya’s friends from fencing—a boy named Podrick—and made conversation with him until she was safely at the spot on campus where she had arranged to meet Jon for lunch.

She didn’t tell her therapist about seeing Joff.  There was no point to it, and she knew what the woman would say. 

“And how did that make you feel, Sansa?”

If Lynesse Hightower was the best therapist in Oldtown, then Sansa had serious doubts about the field. Twice a week, in the mornings before her lecture on Environmental History, she would go to Dr. Hightower’s office and waste an hour.

The only good thing about the therapy was that she had been prescribed very strong sleeping medication.  Gone were the sleeping habits she had lived through for a semester—routinely exhausting herself and then crashing.  That alone made her feel better.

“Honestly, the only thing I ever feel during sessions with her is complete and utter frustration that she is so bloody incompetent,” Sansa ranted over the phone to her mother.  “Can’t I find another therapist?”

“Give it a little more time, darling.  Sometimes it takes more time than others to get a good rapport with a therapist.  When Lysa was suffering from depression—”

“I know.  But I’m not Lysa.  I don’t need to tell her how I feel, I need to have her make it so that I’m not hiding things from myself.  But she doesn’t even _try_ to push me.”

“Darling, you had a panic attack.  She probably doesn’t want to induce another one.”

“She apparently doesn’t want me to feel anything at all.”

“Give it a little more time, Sansa.  Please.”

“I’m home!” hollered Arya, slamming the door.

“I’m on the phone with mum.  Come say hi.”  Sansa handed the phone to her sister and began pulling down the makings for a quick dinner.

“Hi mum.  Yes.  Yes.  No.  Yes.  I could, yes.  Maybe.  I’m not sure.  We might be in King’s Landing for a tournament then?  I have to check my schedule.  It’s upstairs so I can’t do it now.  Yes.  I will.  Yes.  Give Bran and Rick my love!  I’ll talk to you soon.  Yes, here she is.”  She handed the phone back to Sansa, rolling her eyes.

“Hi mum,” Sansa said, pressing the phone against her shoulder so she could continue cracking eggs.

“Make sure your sister finds out if she can come home during your spring break.  Will you be able to?”

“I’m not sure yet.  I might be doing research for Tyrion.  I’ll talk to him.”

“I’ll never see either of you again, will I?”

“Of course you will.  I am going to make dinner.  Can I call you later?”

“Ned and I are going to a concert tonight.  But we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“All right.  I love you.”

“And I you darling.”

Sansa hung up the phone.

“No Gendry tonight?” she teased her sister. 

“He has his discussion section, and then plans to be in the library until dawn. _I_ need to get some semblance of homework done before my Old Valyrian class tomorrow.”

Sansa grinned.  “Ahh yes.  Homework.  The bane of the student relationship.”

“Oh shut up.  How was your day?”

“Pretty dull.  Dr. Hightower is still useless.  What do you want in your omelet?”

“Ham, spinach, as much cheese as will fit.  Is there anything you can do about it?”

“Mum won’t let me switch therapists yet.  Honestly, I feel as though sitting you and Roslin and some wine proves just as therapeutic as going to see her twice a week.”

“Did I hear wine?” Roslin came in.  Her hair was wet and smelled strongly of shampoo.

“Complaining about therapy,” explained Sansa.

“Ahh.”

“More wine then!” said Arya, reaching for a bottle.  Sansa noticed that it was a _very_ nice red.

“Where did you get this?  It looks like it cost a couple of dragons.”

Arya grinned.  “I called dad when I realized that Tuesday nights usually end like this.  He thinks that funding our wine is good if it keeps us talking.  He also sends you his love.”

“You got dad to pay for your booze habit?”

“No.  Just wine on Tuesday nights.”

“Well played,” Sansa raised her glass to her sister.

“Thank you.”  Arya gave her a flourishing bow.

Roslin laughed and pulled a voice reminiscent of Dr. Hightower.  “And how does that make you feel, Sansa?”

“Very nicely, Dr. Hightower.  I feel as though my sister understands me very well.”

“Seven hells.  There’s something I never thought I would hear you say.”

“Well, you learn something new every day, as our mother likes to say.  Here’s your omelet.”

“Delicious, as always, sweet sister.”

“Chew with your mouth closed, Arya.” 

And Arya was laughing, and Sansa was laughing.  She took another sip of wine and began to forget.


	3. Gendry

He taped a sign to his window before heading down to dinner.

_Grading tests tonight.  Come distract me._

“No Arya tonight?” winked Aurane.

“She might be by.”

Jon groaned.  “You know, I was all for this until I realized we shared a wall.  There’s some things a brother should never have to hear.”

“You aren’t working tonight?” asked Aurane.

“Nope.  Traded shifts with Grenn so he can propose to his girlfriend Saturday.”

“You’re too nice sometimes.”

“How is that too nice?  It’s the decent thing to do.  The man wants to get married.”

“Sacrificing our Saturday night.  I had plans.”

“You always have plans.  They rarely involve me.”

“They did involve you, actually.  It was going to be a double date.”

“And you didn’t ask Daemon?”  Jon’s eyebrows shot up.

“He’s got a date, actually.  Or rather, his ex is going to be in town and she gave him a booty call.  Does it count as a booty call if it’s via email, several days in advance?”

“Yep.”

“Absolutely.”

“You’ll like her, Jon.  She’s your type.”

“Which is?”

“From the north.”

Jon rolled his eyes.

“Well, you’ll have to find someone else, because I have a shift on Saturday now.”

“You disappoint me, sir.”

“You’ll get over it.”

“I would then turn to you, Gendry, but you probably will already be engaged by Jon’s little sister.”

Gendry simply smiled, and half-winked.

Jon groaned again.  “At least I’ll be out of the house then.”

“It’s all right, Jon.  I have some tequila that needs drinking, and since you’ve robbed me of my Saturday night plans with you, tonight should make for a suitable substitute, should young Arya show up.”

Jon groaned again.  “Can you not refer to her as ‘young Arya,’ please?”

“I second this request,” grumbled Gendry.  These days he was mostly able to forget Arya was that much younger than him.  When she was straddling him and rubbing herself up against him, for example, or when she was slipping her tongue into his mouth.  But the moment that he remembered often served to be just as affective as a cold shower.

His mother had told him that, if it worked out, it wouldn’t matter in the long run.  Which was true.  But it did not stop him from feeling uncomfortable in the moment.

“Bloody fuck.  What is this?” demanded Jon almost spitting out the soup he had taken a bite of.

“Soup.”

“No shit.  It’s terrible.  What’s in it?”

“Swap shifts with someone for Saturday and I’ll tell you.”

Jon rolled his eyes and put another spoonful of soup in his mouth.  He shuddered.

Arya came through the back door.  “Hello, I brought leftover stir-fry that really needs to be eaten.”

“You’re heavenly,” smiled Gendry, kissing the top of her head, removing the container from her hands and putting it in the microwave.

“I try.  I don’t know if there’s enough for more than you though.  It depends how hungry people are,” she glanced apologetically at Jon.

“I’ll survive.  I think,” Jon sighed dramatically.  He raised the soup to his lips again and sipped loudly.  “You know, I think you get desensitized to it after a while.”

“You sound a little too hopeful there, Jon,” grinned Aurane, lighting a cigarette.

“Can you not smoke while I’m eating?  It’s bad enough that I have to deal with this shit,” Jon gestured to his soup, “on top of that shit.” He gestured to Aurane’s cigarette.

“Too late,” shrugged Aurane, blowing some smoke right in Jon’s face.

Jon coughed. 

“Poor form, mate.  Poor form,” chided Gendry, taking a bite of the stir-fry.  It scalded his tongue.  He did his best to withhold a yelp.

Arya snorted.

“Why are you and Aurane arguing?” she asked Jon, taking the seat next to him while Gendry leaned against the stove, blowing on his food.

“Aurane wants to set me up with someone on Saturday, but I have work.”

“You could have fun you know.  Change shifts with someone.”

“That is a ridiculous process, and at this point I don’t know what will be possible.  It’s really hard to switch someone to a Saturday shift,” sighed Jon.  “Besides.  I’m not sure that I want to go.”

“You never want to have fun,” grumbled Arya. 

Aurane laughed.  “You see?  I’ve been saying it for ages, Jon.  Send an email to your colleagues and see if one of them can swap you.  You won’t regret it.”

“I bet I will,” muttered Jon.  But he pulled out his phone and began tapping away on it.  A moment later, he said “There.  Are you happy?  Let the fates decide whether or not to humor you.”

“Atta boy!”  Aurane took a sip of soup, then made a revolted face.  “This really is crap.  What was I thinking?”

“I bloody told you!” snapped Jon.

Gendry slipped his arms around Arya’s waist and whispered in her ear.  “Let’s go upstairs.”

She glanced at him, then at Jon who was shaking his spoon at Aurane, berating him for “unhealthy kitchen practices” and “sheer idiocy.”  She slipped off her chair and climbed the stairs to his bedroom.  Gendry chucked the empty stir-fry container in the sink and followed her upstairs. 

“I’ll grab the tequila for you, Jon.”  He heard Aurane stage whisper as he left.  Without looking at him, Gendry gave him the finger.

Arya was examining the sign he had stuck to the window.  Her shoes and sweatshirt were lying on the floor and as she read, she was toe-ing off her socks. 

“I like this method of message-leaving,” she smiled at him, placing the note on his desk.

“It brings back fond memories, doesn’t it?”

Arya rolled her eyes.  “You’re grading tonight?”

“Theoretically.”  He arched an eyebrow.  At the moment, he had no plans to even begin thinking about schoolwork.

Arya nodded slowly.  “Distract you how?”  Her eyes were alight.

“I’m sure you’ll figure out something.  You’re good at being creative.”  He sat down on the bed.

He expected her to come and sit on the bed—or maybe his lap.  He expected her to laugh and press him for more information.  There was even a small part of him that expected her to tell him to get to work, kiss his cheek and dart back downstairs.

But Arya never really did what he expected her to.  He liked that about her a great deal.

Especially when she peeled her t-shirt off and stood before him, bra-less, with a positively evil grin on her face.


	4. Sansa

“Jon, stop watching me like that.  It’s your damn birthday and you don’t have to babysit me.”

“Who’s watching you?  I’m not watching you?”  Jon leaned against the counter and raised an eyebrow.

“I’m watching you watching me.  You should learn to lie better.”

Jon grinned.  “I lie just fine, thanks.”

Sansa lifted her eyebrows in the way she knew made her look like her mother, just to watch him quail.  She was in a bad mood today—and she was not sure where it came from.  Perhaps it was that Arya had tried to be in the kitchen while she baked.  Or maybe it was that Jon, of all the members of her family, was the least subtle about trying to make her feel safe and supported.  (Admittedly, Robb would probably have been worse if he had been around.  She also had a shrewd suspicion that Jon’s lack of subtlety came from his trying to follow Robb’s instructions as well as ascertaining her wellness for himself.)  Or perhaps it was that Jeyne had forgotten to call earlier that day when she had said that she would and Sansa had done nothing for an hour and a half, expecting the phone call that never came. 

“Can you get out of the way?  Or else your cake is only going to be half iced.”

Jon took a step back.  “Gods forbid that I prevent you from icing my birthday cake.”

“Better me than Arya, yes?”

Jon groaned.  Sansa laughed.

“I heard that!” called Arya from the living room.

“I should hope you did,” replied Jon.  “It was definitely for your benefit.”  He turned his attention back to Sansa.  “You never did answer my question though.”

Sansa lifted the knife she was using to ice the cake and pointed it at him.  “I’m _fine_ , Jon.  I go to therapy and everything now.”

“Just because you go to therapy doesn’t mean you’re fine.  I speak from experience, here.”

Sansa glanced at him.  Jon didn’t expand though, and she didn’t know how to press it.

She and Jon had never pressed each other for details about their lives, in the same way that she and Arya once had not.  And she thought that working on communicating with one sibling was more than enough to handle.  Besides, it felt like invading Jon’s privacy, and Jon was a very private person.

“Truly,” she said, quietly this time, and as calmly as she could, “I am fine.  I mean it this time.  I don’t think I’m deluding myself or anything.  I know what will make me not fine, and I know what will make me better, and I think that’s more than enough to be getting on with.”

“And they are?”

“I’m going to run you through with this knife.”

“You sound like Arya.  You and I both know that’s not what you want.  And they are?” Jon repeated.

Sansa returned to icing the cake.  “I won’t be fine if Joffrey doesn’t leave me alone—and he is at the moment, so let’s not worry too much about the future shall we.  And I will be better if you _stop watching me like that._ ”

“Fat chance,” called Arya.  “Am I allowed in yet?”

“No.”

“It was one time!” she whined, and Jon laughed.

“And that was one time too many.  You stay out of the kitchen until my birthday cake is done or I swear bad things will happen to you.”

“Yeah, like you would do anything to me.”

Jon grimaced.  Arya had him there.  Sansa did her best not to smile.

“You’ll let me know if he doesn’t leave you alone, yes?”

Sansa would have retorted sarcastically, if she hadn’t heard the seriousness in Jon’s voice. Unlike most people, Jon could capture varying levels of earnestness in his voice, and at the moment, he was at his most earnest.

She nodded.

“Good.”

“You really are pulling the big brother thing out there, now that Robb’s not here.”

“Hey—I’m plenty big-brother-ly.”

“Yes dear.  Can you move again?  I need to get a plate.”

He complied.

“Am I allowed in yet?” called Arya.

Sansa glanced at Jon.  He nodded.

“Yes, oh destructive kitchen wench,” replied Sansa.

“I resent that epithet.”

“Deal with it.”

Arya rolled her eyes as she strode into the kitchen.

“Now that you are old, Jon—”

“Hey!”

“Now that you are old,” Arya said over Jon’s protests, “what do you wish you had known sooner?  This icing is delicious, Sansa.”  Arya had dipped her pointer finger into the remaining icing and was licking it off.

“Arya, I was using that,” growled Sansa.  Arya shrugged.

“I wish I had known better than to let you near my cake icing,” muttered Jon.

Arya made a rude gesture.

“You know,” said Jon over Arya’s shoulder, “I think this one’s a lost cause.”

“Yep.  Good thing she’s in Gendry’s hands now.”

“Hey!”

“Yeah, I think we are well shot of her.”

“You’re mean, Jon Snow.”

“I’m allowed to be mean.  It’s _my_ birthday.  I get to be bossy and mean.”

“I’m leaving if this is going to be pick on Arya time.”

“You smell funny anyway,” grinned Jon.

“Mmmm.  More cake for me!” exclaimed Sansa.

“I hate you both.”

“Yes, yes.  Set the table while I pop this in the fridge.”

“You know, Sansa, you’ll make a great bossy wife one day.  Or mother.”

“That, dear Arya, is gender normative.  Who’s to say I won’t end up an executive of a powerful company—married to the job?”

But even as she tried to imagine herself in a suit-skirt outfit, seated in a large office with a snazzy computer and a window that looked out over the Sunset Sea, she couldn’t.  It made her sad for a moment.  It would make life that much easier if she could.  But she supposed she was never going to have an easy life.

Arya, completely unaware of Sansa’s thoughts, snorted.  “Please.  You’ll be married by the time you’re twenty-five and pop out eight kids in a heartbeat.  Don’t try to deny it.”

“Hey, now—let’s leave Sansa be, shall we?” suggested Jon.

“How come it’s always leave Sansa be and never leave me be?  Just because she had a break-down last winter does not mean she’s not fair game for some sibling picking-on.”

Sansa forced out a laugh.  “If I were to be married by the time I’m twenty-five, wouldn’t I theoretically need to start looking for my man?”

“You should work on that.  I suggest them.  They can be quite lovely—when they aren’t little shits like Joffrey.  I recommend the gentle-giant type.”

Jon groaned.  “I think Sansa doesn’t want to talk about this Arya.  And _Gods_ know I don’t.  One of you dating is more than I can handle.  Two of you…”

“All right,” Arya shrugged and settled into a chair.

“You don’t need to worry about that, Jon,” Sansa kept her voice as even as she could, drawing the lasagna out of the oven, “I’m not looking for anyone at the moment.  And even if I were, I don’t think I’m ready for it, so it probably wouldn’t last long anyway.”

“Good.  Self-awareness is good.  Staying away from boys is good.”

“No it’s not,” said Arya, “Well.  The self-awareness bit is.  But the staying away from boys bit is dumb.  How on earth are you going to remember all the fun they are if you keep yourself locked away like a Silent Sister?”

“Wow,” interjected Jon, “you really are bitter that we made you wait in the living room, aren’t you?  Pass me your plate.”  He began spooning lasagna onto Arya’s plate.

“Arya, I think I knew that boys were ‘fun’ before you realized that that word had more suggestive meanings.”

Sansa remembered Haldon Cassel and the excitement in her throat when she he had first clasped her breasts in his car before dropping her off at home.  She had been so sure that her mother would know just from looking at her when she strode through the door.  Luckily she had been wrong.

And then, washing over the barriers she had worked so hard to erect, memories of Joff.  Joff and his fingers inside her, his tongue in his mouth, his hand at the small of her back.  Joff and his winning smile and his cavalier mannerisms and the happy expression in his eyes when the King’s Landing football team won.  Joff, and the way she felt alive and indestructible when he kissed her, and how she had imagined the children they would have—and had even started naming them in her head.

 _No_ , she thought desperately, _no.  I can’t let myself think of the good things.  No._

She tried as hard as she could to pull herself out of it, to throw the barriers back up, even to think (though she knew she shouldn’t) of the bite of the belt, or the way he would hold onto her too tightly so that she couldn’t pull away.  But the damage was done and she wished that Jon or Arya would say something thoroughly distracting—anything to pull her out of this.

“All I’m saying,” said Arya to Jon loudly.  Sansa hadn’t even been aware that their conversation had continued. “Is you can have boys that are friends, without having a boyfriend.  I’ve done that all my life.”

“I know, Arya—and I’m saying you can’t make Sansa put herself out there.  She has to get there on her own.”

“You know,” said Sansa quietly, pulling as much calm as possible into her voice, hoping that it was enough, “I am right here.  Listening to every word you say.”

“I know.”  Arya’s voice was positively cheerful.  “How does it feel?”

“You know, I can still throw you out of the kitchen if I want.”

“Uh-huh.  Sure.”

Jon’s voice rose loudly over theirs.  “And I now declare an end to all threats, attacks, and regressions before you ruin my birthday dinner.”  Arya glanced sheepishly at him.  “Thank you.”  And he settled back into his seat and began devouring his lasagna.

Arya’s phone buzzed and she began typing away, her lips curved up slightly.

“What’s Gendry up to?” asked Jon.

“He’s meeting with the other TAs for his class.  He thinks they’re annoying.”

“Ah.  Yes.  That.”

Dinner passed amiably enough after that.  Arya was always friendlier if she had eaten something, and Jon was in a particularly good mood.  He laughed loudly, he joked constantly and he even helped with dishes after the meal was over.

When Jon and Arya had departed to the Bastard House, Sansa stood alone in the kitchen for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to void her mind of everything for just a moment.  She closed her eyes and was able to keep Joffrey out of her mind’s eye.

She was proud of herself.


	5. Edric

Ned found it very difficult to pay attention in Introductory Linguistics. 

He told Arya that he needed her help because his TA was incompetent, a story that she believed easily.  And it was true, his TA was incompetent, but that wasn’t why he had such difficulty retaining the material.

Joffrey Baratheon was in the class.

He usually sat three rows in front of Ned, and spent all of lecture surfing the internet.  In the discussion section which he and Ned unfortunately shared, he spent his time trying to disprove everything their incompetent TA said, as if trying to prove to everyone that the section was a complete waste of his time. 

Ned sometimes wondered why Joffrey bothered to show up to section.  Then he remembered that it would take very little for the University to kick him out again.

Ned didn’t tell Arya that Joffrey was in his class.  He wasn’t entirely sure why—Arya wasn’t the one with the horrific past.  But for some reason, he was nervous that it might cause her undue stress.  Or rage.

On second thought, this probably came from her repeated requests in practice during breaks that the team be prepared to kick the shit out of Joffrey on her sister’s behalf.  The team had agreed willingly. 

None more so than Ned.

At first, he did it out of loyalty to Arya—out of a desire to be her friend, or to date her, or whatever it was that confused him about her the first few months of school.

Then, he thought it was because of Joffrey, and how much the smug little bastard made him feel sick to his stomach when clicked on images that were violently Not Safe For Work during lecture.

But these days, he did it for another reason.

If Joffrey was the reason that Ned was struggling in Intro Linguistics, he had a whole different reason for not being able to pay attention in Environmental History.

Sansa Stark usually sat down the row from him, writing in a little blue notebook in handwriting so tiny that Ned did not completely understand how it was physically possible for her to make letters that small.  Her focus in lecture was undivided, and her face was smooth and emotionless.

The way that Allyria’s was.

The fifth lecture into the term, he had worn his fencing sweatshirt and she had given him a small smile for it, as though the simple association with her sister (and her sister’s declarations that the fencing team would defend her from all evil) was enough to endear him to her.

She never spoke to him, though.  Apart from small smiles when he stood up to let her past him, nods of gratitude more than anything else, she seemed to be wholly detached from his existence.

Some days were better than others.  Some days (usually the ones when she arrived first to lecture and so didn’t have to pass him) he could focus perfectly.  Other days, his attention swayed somewhere between Professor Flowers and the girl sitting at the other end of the row.

He wondered what she thought about.  He wondered how she could bear being here, where everyone knew what had happened to her and looked at her with pity.

He wondered if he pitied her.

He wasn’t sure, but he was damn sure that actually protecting Sansa Stark was the reason he constantly said, “Yes, Arya.  We’ve been through this before.  You have my sword.”

“I bet I could get someone on the archery team to commit bows to your cause,” suggested Pod.

“Yeah—my roommate has an axe in his closet.  I could probably get a-hold of that,” added Pate.

“Good.  Because so far only you three have committed to this today and that’s fewer than I was anticipating.”

“Maybe that’s because you keep repeating yourself.  I remember about five more people being interested earlier this semester and the rest saying they'd listen if there was actually a threat.  I just think that you’re beating a dead horse, a little bit.”

“All right.  But it’s still good to know that the honor of House Stark is safe in your hands, Edric Dayne.  And yours too, Podrick Payne.”

Ned gave Arya a flourishing bow with his épée in hand.  He took a swig of his water, and then turned back to Dacey, who was waiting for him. 

He fought a little harder in practice after that discussion.  He wondered briefly what it would be like if he were facing Joffrey. 

Well, he was sure he would break the rules of fencing, since he’d probably aim his sword at Joffrey’s throat.  And he would probably use the sides.

“Cool it, Dayne,” barked Dacey. “You’re swinging at me like I insulted your mother.  You’re cuts are a bit wild.  Keep your head in it.”

Ned took a step back, took a deep breath, then raised his sword to the guard position again.

This time, he did not imagine he was fighting Joffrey.  This time, he imagined he was his uncle.

He had never met his uncle.  He had died rock-climbing in the Dornish Marches before Ned had been born.  But Ned had been raised hearing stories of him.  His uncle had won gold in sabre at every world championship that he had competed in starting when he was sixteen. Pod’s eyes had bugged out of his head when Ned had mentioned that he was Arthur Dayne, Sword of the Morning’s, nephew.

“That’s better.  Keep with me.”  Dacey guided him up and down until he landed a point against her left thigh.  “Again,” she said, lowering her blade and re-centering them on the court.

When practice was over, he and Pod walked back to their dorm.  It was dark out, but they could still see some afterglow.  That was what Ned liked best about February.  It was a shit month, but the days grew longer and the nights shorter.

“You don’t think…” began Pod.

“Hmm?”

“You don’t think we’ll ever _actually_ have to beat up Joffrey, do you?”  He sounded a bit nervous.

“Probably just Arya being Arya.”

“Good.”

But Ned couldn’t help thinking, as he waved goodnight to Pod on the third floor while Pod continued up to the fifth, that it might be worth doing it anyway.


	6. Arya

“What happened to Hot Pie?  The one you used to do semantics with?”  Roslin was slurring her words ever so slightly. 

They had already finished two bottles of wine, and were well into their third.  The onion soup that Sansa had pulled together was mostly gone, and they had demolished the cheese.

“I dunno.  He’s not in my classes.  I’ve lost track of him some,” shrugged Arya.

“He was nice.”

“Yeah.  I suppose.”

“And the creepy one who looked like she was addicted to heroin?”

“She’s doing a term abroad in Braavos.”

“Some people just don’t stick around in your life,” sighed Sansa.  Her eyes were bright from alcohol, her face flushed.  Arya couldn’t help but think that Sansa _would_ be a pretty drunk.  “I was friends with Margaery Tyrell my first year here.  She graduated and said she’d keep in touch and I haven’t heard from her since.  Can’t be too upset though.  And if I ever bump into her again, I will be most pleased and ask her out for tea.”

“And I suppose that Arya does have plenty of males in her life.  There are some truly delicious boys on that fencing team of yours.”  Roslin raised her glass.  Arya made a face.  She wouldn’t go so far as to call them delicious, that was for sure.  Roslin’s grin turned wicked and Arya knew what she was going to say before she said it.  “Of course, we know that Arya prefers her men less lithe and more built like a war hammer.”

Arya rolled her eyes and took a sip of her drink.  The things she’d suffer through to make sure that Sansa talked.  If this was going to turn into a discussion about boys, she might just kill something.  Roslin probably.

Roslin always managed to bring things back to boys.

“That’s probably a good thing.  More lithe men for me.”  Sansa was leaning back in her chair.

Roslin cackled.  “I am going to press this.  What’s Gendry like in bed?  Is he big all over?”

“I am not going to answer that.”

“That small?”

“No.  Because these things are to make sure Sansa talks about her feelings, not to give up the dirt on my boyfriend’s body.  Which is delightful, I will have you know.”

“I talk about my feelings plenty.  If not earlier tonight when I divulged my great fear of brightly colored spandex, then twice a week with Dr. Hightower.  And it’s always fun to watch someone else squirm.”

“I hate you,” mumbled Arya.  Sansa leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Arya began typing on her phone. 

_Arya Stark:  Save me.  Girls’ night just turned on me.  I should have foreseen this.  Help help help._

“So.  Is he big?”

Arya glared at Roslin.

“Have you gotten that far?” Roslin persisted.

Sansa interjected, “She might not have.  He is her first boyfriend after all.”

“I hate you both.”

“Why is that?”  Sansa pulled her Dr. Hightower voice on.  “How does that make you feel, Arya?”

Arya’s phone buzzed.

_Gendry Waters: Am in seminar.  I can come by when it’s over if you still need extracting._

_Arya Stark: They’re asking me about your body.  Thought you should know._

_Gendry Waters: Please be grossly complimentary._

_Arya Stark: Only if you rescue me._

_Gendry Waters:  Shall be along once Prof. Hill is done.  I expect to hear grossly complimentary rumors about myself by Thursday._

_Arya Stark: Do you give all the girls that kind of homework assignment?_

_Gendry Waters: I should consider it.  It would do massive things for my ego, I’m sure._

“I wonder if she realizes she gets this big goofy grin on her face when she’s texting him,” stage-whispered Roslin.

“Probably not.”

“Oh, shut up.  You’re both ridiculous.  No, Gendry and I haven’t ‘gotten that far,’ he’s the opposite of small which seems logically proportional to the rest of his body, and I’m very happy with him.  Happier than I am with either of you two at the moment.”

“Happy how?” asked Sansa.  Her tone was no longer teasing.  If anything, it sounded wistful.

Arya looked at her.

Part of her wanted to roll her eyes and tell her to mind her own damn business.  But instead she took a deep breath and considered for a moment.

“I dunno.  It’s nice to know that there’s someone who cares about the dumb things in my life.  It makes me feel special.”

Sansa’s smile was proud, but there was a tinge of something sad that Arya caught around the outer corners of her eyebrows.  She pounced.  “That’s an empty smile, Sansa.  What are you thinking?”

Sansa rolled her eyes.

“What do you think I’m thinking?” she replied.

“You tell me.”

“It’s funny to watch the two of you deflect from talking about your shit at each other.  Really, it could be a spectator sport.”  Roslin killed the last bottle of wine and took a sip.

“I’ve…I’ve never felt special to anyone, all right?  And I want that,” sighed Sansa.

“Fair enough.  I just wanted you to say it.”

Sansa rolled her eyes.  “Because I made you spit out your feelings about Gendry?”

“Yep.”

Sansa glared at her for a moment, then began to laugh.  She laughed so hard that she had to put her wine glass down for fear that she would end up spilling it everywhere.

“I can’t tell if I think we’re ridiculous or not,” she gasped at last.  “Antagonizing each other into spilling emotions.”

“You’re definitely ridiculous,” commented Roslin, “but if it’s any consolation, I wish my sisters antagonized me this way.  They just antagonize me.”

“Mum would be proud of our developments.  That’s what we used to do,” said Arya.

“I seem to recall an incident with a phone call sometime last semester…”  Roslin’s voice was very dry.

Sansa laughed.

“That was regression.  I think because I was on the phone with Jeyne Poole.  Arya _hates_ Jeyne.”

“I don’t hate Jeyne!  I find her dull and insipid and not worth spending time with.  She gets offended when I tell her so.  I reserve hatred for greater evils.”

“Like Joff?” suggested Sansa.

“Yep.”

“Well, I’m glad to know you like my best friend slightly better than my evil ex.”

“I’m glad you find that comforting.  I would too.”

Arya’s phone buzzed.

_Gendry Waters: Am on my way.  Still need rescuing?  Or has it passed and am I no longer wanted?_

_Arya Stark: Get over here, you moron._

_Gendry Waters: Yes m’lady._

_Arya Stark: Oh shut up._

When she looked up from her phone Sansa had turned the conversation towards Roslin.

“Without saying something that will make me unable to look either of them in the face again, who’s better?”

“Between Robb and Edmure?”

“Yes.”

Arya saw no way of this ending well and took as deep a swig of wine as she could.

Roslin took a deep breath and considered.  “Robb was better in bed—”

“Well, now I’m not going to be able to look at him in the face,” grumbled Arya.

“Oh, that was very little detail.  I can go into more if you really want to squirm.”  Roslin’s grin was evil.

“I will throw my wine in your face,” retorted Arya, raising her glass threateningly. 

“Robb was better in bed,” repeated Roslin, turning back to Sansa, who was trying to keep a look of pain and disgust off her face, “but Edmure is better to me, I think.  Maybe because he’s not a student, but I feel like he makes more time for me than Robb did, and he listens better.”

“Robb’s also really bad at listening in general,” sighed Sansa.  “You should hear mum rant about it.”

“And I figure, it’s the better to me part that matters more.  And besides, I can make him better in bed.” She winked.

“Cheers,” grinned Sansa, and she and Roslin clicked glasses.

All three of them sipped their wine.  Then Arya blurted out the questions he knew she would regret.

“What makes one person better in bed than another?”

Sansa’s eyebrows shot up, and Roslin giggled.  Arya felt her face turning red.  She really shouldn’t have asked.  She’d never hear the end of it now.  Stupid alcohol.

“Arya, I do believe that is the first sex question you have ever asked ever!” exclaimed Roslin.  “You’re not a lost cause!”

“Oh shut up,” growled Arya.

“Oh, you can’t deny us this!  Talking about sex is fun!” grinned Roslin.

“Indeed.  I’m not having any right now, so let me live vicariously through sex advice, will you?” teased Sansa.

“I hate you both.”

“Energy.  Effort,” suggested Sansa loudly, pulling them back to the original question.

“Reciprocation,” declared Roslin.

Sansa made a noise of approval, though for a moment, her eyes were far away.  Then she said, “Creativity.  And being in love with them helps.  Though I suppose it might just mean that you are a little more charitable towards them if they fuck it up.”

Arya raised her eyebrows.  “What do you mean?”

“Well…sex with someone you love is infinitely better than sex with someone you don’t love.  Though sex with someone you don’t love is still _extremely_ fun, I must say.”

Arya had never considered that.  Maybe it was her mother’s influence, or perhaps even Sansa’s obsession with being in love, but she’d never fathomed having sex just for the fun of it.  She’d always imagined that sex meant love.

She felt her lips tingling and wondered where Gendry was.

“Oh,” Roslin was saying, “and being good with hands.  Ooh!  Look!  She’s blushing.  Gendry’s good with his hands, is he?”

Arya hadn’t realized she was blushing, but it didn’t surprise her.  The way the pads of Gendry’s fingers moved in little circles when he held her, the strong confidence in the way they held her ass, the memory of his thumbs on her nipples the other night…

“I bet he is.  He actually works with his hands, doesn’t he?  In the garage,” teased Sansa. 

“Oh stop it,” mumbled Arya.

“Someone’s good in bed because they work well with you,” Sansa steered the conversation back to its original course.  She took a deep breath.  “It took me a while to realize it, but Joffrey was horrible in bed because he didn’t care about me and never made me feel like anything more than some dumb slut.”

Roslin’s eyebrows shot up, and she made a clucking sound.  But Sansa sat defiantly, as if daring either of them to ask her more about it.  Arya was stunned, watching her sister slowly take another sip of wine.

Then, Sansa’s eyes began to twinkle.  “That, and he could never last very long, could he?”

Arya let out a hoot of laughter, and Roslin raised her glass again.

“Let the bile out, Sansa!  It’s an important part of the healing process.  Was he tiny?  I bet he was.”

“Depressingly enough, he was average sized.  But he definitely thought that he was bigger.”

“What did you have to compare it to?” demanded Arya suddenly.

Sansa began giggling.

“This is going to be a good story, isn’t it?”  The glee in Roslin's voice was positively sickening.

But Sansa couldn’t respond.  She was laughing too hard.

“You and Jeyne used to spy on the boys’ locker rooms, didn’t you,” sighed Arya.

Sansa was nodding, still giggling.

Arya shook her head.

“That’s a bit low, Sansa.”  Arya had many friends who changed in those locker rooms.  None of them would have been too thrilled at the idea of her prettier older sister spying on them while they changed.

“It was a dare,” she gasped at last.  “Jeyne wanted to find out if Theon was really all he said he was.  He wasn’t.”

Arya groaned.  “I don’t want to hear that!”

“He wasn’t,” repeated Sansa, “but after that, Jeyne and I would try and figure out how well the boys matched what they claimed to be.  Most of them didn’t.  Some of them did though, which was always exciting.”

Arya began knocking her head against the table.

“ _This_ ,” she said emphatically, “is why I don’t like Jeyne Poole.”

Sansa was laughing again, and there was a knock on the door.  Arya's chair fell to the ground she stood up so quickly. It was funny how she felt much more drunk on her feet than she did sitting in the chair.  Ahh well.

“Hello,” she smiled, leaning against the door.

He bent to kiss her.  Then pulled back, his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pulled into a bizarre frown.  “You are drunk, aren’t you?  You taste very much like wine.”

Arya nodded. 

“Good influence your housemates are.  What would your mother say?” But he was smiling and he closed the door behind him as she sidled back towards the kitchen.

“Gendry!” exclaimed Sansa when he came into the kitchen.

“We were just talking about you and your handiwork,” grinned Roslin.

Sansa burst out laughing.

“You are all pretty gone, aren’t you?”

Arya was standing behind him and had the sudden urge to slip her hands around his waist.  When she did, Sansa and Roslin began giggling again.

“I think I’m checking out,” she said to them, poking her head around his torso.  The laughter only increased.  Then she tugged Gendry up the stairs towards her room, and privacy.


	7. Sansa

It was a bright morning and Sansa stretched slightly before pulling herself deeper under her blankets.  Her muscles were unbelievably sore from dancing as much as she had the night before.

Tyene had been sick with the flu, and Sansa had covered all of her dances, something she hadn’t had to do since last year.  It had excited her—that she was being thrown in at the last second to compete where other dancers could not.  But that excitement had dissipated.  She had danced with Waymar before, but his and Tyene’s style was much more flamboyant than Sansa’s had been, and her muscles were not used to it.  They did not place very highly, and Sansa had had to fight off bitter disappointment, when her imagination had dictated that they would win the competition.

But all that washed away with sleep and she was left with sore legs and a large knot of muscles in her lower back. 

She had forgotten how much she liked that sore feeling.  It made her feel like she had accomplished something, like she had done something to be proud of.  She supposed she would have to be content with that.

She did not go back to sleep, but she lay in bed for another hour, appreciating that she didn’t have anything to do—or rather, that there was nothing that she felt a pressing need to do.  That was what was best about Sundays.  Quiet calm in the morning.

After a point, she pulled out her laptop and waited for it to update he emails.  There was one from Bran about the preparations for Rick’s birthday, one from her parents checking in on her, one from Tyrion Lannister pushing back their meeting until Wednesday because some family business had detained him in Casterly Rock, and one from someone she didn’t know.

_To: Sansa.Stark@oldtown.uni_

_From: Edric.Dayne@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: Studying for EH midterm?_

_Hi Sansa,_

_Do you want to study for the midterm sometime this coming week?_

_Let me know,_

_Ned_

She cocked her head.

The name sounded familiar. 

Well, everyone knew the name “Dayne.”  Indeed, Arya had spent most of her childhood pretending to be The Sword of the Morning when practicing her fencing in the living room.  And the name Ned would always be dear to her because of her father.

She pulled up the university directory and searched for him.

She recognized him instantly, the boy on the fencing team who smiled at her in Environmental History.  He had a very nice picture (better than hers, and much better than Arya’s who looked rather as though she had been stoned when it was taken).  His smile reached rich eyes and his blond hair looked windswept. 

She wondered for a moment if he was close to Arya.  Arya tended not to bring her fencing friends home.  She knew Podrick Payne because he had been in one of her classes her first year, but apart from that, she didn’t know anyone. 

She felt her heart beat pick up when she moved her mouse to the reply button.  _Careful,_ she thought, _careful._   She did not know anything about him, and she really should check with Arya before replying.  What if he was awful?

Immediately after thinking that, she shook herself.  She was not allowing herself to think like that anymore, not letting herself assume the worst of all men just because of Joffrey. 

And besides, Ned Dayne had a nice smile.

_To: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_From: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: re: Studying for EH midterm?_

_Hi Ned,_

_Sounds good.  If you’re free after class on Tuesday, we can meet then.  If not, let me know when might be good._

_-Sansa_

The response was instantaneous.

_To: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_From: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: re(2): Studying for EH midterm?_

_Perfect.  See you then.  Ned._

She spent the rest of the day focusing on Tyrion’s research, alternating between the kitchen and tea, the living room and company, and her bedroom and fluffy down comforter. 

She loved getting lost in research.  Reading about old blood feuds and the documentation of strange happenings thousands of years ago made her feel more alive than she had since she had first gotten Lady.  She loved working in a way that didn’t feel like work, especially when it got her school credit, and she loved that she was working with Tyrion, who made everything feel both surprisingly simple and unbelievably complicated.

She knew that his book was likely not to be very important in the scheme of things.  But she was proud to help him research it.  She was even prouder to have come up with the working title: _Dragons & Direwolves – The War of the Five Kings_.  She knew that his editor would undoubtedly change it, but for now, she didn’t have to care about that.

She heard Roslin’s moans and Edmure’s shrill giggles that meant they were having sex, Arya prattling with Gendry over the phone, and Ghost scratching at their back door, hoping that someone would come out and play with him, but none of that could distract her from her readings.  At one point, it might have made her feel lonely—that her sister and housemate were happily in relationships while she was not, that Jon’s dog was alive and healthy when hers had died last year of canine leukemia.  It might have made her feel jealous, or dejected, or something. 

But at the moment, she was pleased to be free of it all, happy to spend time to herself in a way that reminded her who she was and what she liked.  It was time to herself when she wasn’t sad or lonely, when she was working, or reading, or writing in her journal, that made her really begin to forget Joff.

Dr. Hightower told her that this was not simply natural, but encouraged—the best way to move on.  She wasn’t sure that she believed her.  But she was already worlds better than she had been last year, or even last semester.

“What’s Ned Dayne like?” she asked Arya over dinner that night.

Gendry snorted.

“What?” she asked, turning her attention to him.

“Sorry.  I was just his TA last semester.  So I find it amusing when he crops up as part of your undergraduate lives.”

“He’s nice.  I like him quite a bit.  He used to get on my nerves, but now he doesn’t.  Why?” asked Arya, taking a bite of her chicken sandwich.

“He and I are going to study for my midterm.  I just wanted to know what he was like.  And I know you fence with him.”

Arya shrugged.  “He’s not as big a moron as I thought he was initially.  And he’s certainly less of a moron than most of the kids on the team.”

“Ordinarily, I’d translate that for you, but you probably got the real meaning of it,” grinned Gendry.

“He’s a nice fellow, and has a lot of patience with me,” agreed Sansa.  She and Gendry laughed.  Arya threw a paper napkin at her. 

“Oy.  That’s not nice.”

“Sometimes it is necessary to translate your meaning for others,” said Sansa.  “Luckily, both Gendry and I are fluent in Arya.  You should write a linguistic analysis of the way you talk.  It would probably be funny.”

Arya threw another napkin at her.

Gendry swatted her behind and she yelped and whirled, her hands defensively in the air.

“Watch yourself, Waters.”

“Behave, Stark.”

Sansa smiled.  Arya with a boy was something she would never have imagined.  And yet both she and Gendry seemed so easy with one another.  She was glad to see her sister happy.  Gods knew that she had given her enough trouble about it growing up.

Arya turned back to Sansa.  “He’ll be good to you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried about that.  I just…was curious is all.  I’ve never really spoken to him.  He just emailed me.”

Arya rolled her eyes.

“Ned would.”

“Oh?”

“He just would.  I don’t know how to explain it.  He’s just that kind of a person.”

Sansa wondered what that meant all through Monday, and in the back of her mind during her therapy session Tuesday morning.  She didn’t bring up the study session with Ned when talking with Dr. Hightower.  For some reason, she thought that Dr. Hightower would read too much into it, and she didn’t feel like talking about that with her.  (She didn’t feel like talking with Dr. Hightower in general, actually.)

She reached the lecture hall before Ned, and sat less far down the row than usual.  She took out her notebook and a fountain pen and waited.

Her phone buzzed.

_Arya Stark: If Ned’s a twit, tell me and I’ll talk to him._

She smiled at her phone before turning it to silent.  Arya really could be sweet sometimes, as much as she tried to hide it.

Ned’s blond hair was more disheveled than usual—it looked as though he had just been in the shower.  He smiled and nodded at her.  She smiled back before turning to Professor Flowers and beginning to write, allowing focus to wash over her.

When the lecture ended, Sansa approached Ned as he began packing up his laptop. 

“Hello,” she said, somewhat apprehensively.

“Hi!  Thanks for agreeing to study with me.”

“Of course.  It’ll probably make me study.  I’m getting to that stage of education where I just kind of shrug and assume that it will be alright.”

Ned nodded knowingly.  “I wish I could do that…but last year was a rough time and I’d like a bounce back before my last year so I can really blow off steam.  Shall we go to Chataya’s? I love their caramel lattes.  Have you ever tried them?”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

Ned opened his mouth in mock horror.  At last, he said, “Are you real?”

“Very much.  Tea is all the caffeine I need.  And Chataya’s has truly excellent tea from Yi Ti.  You should try their Jade Dragon.  It’s really something else.”

“But…coffee…” Ned looked pained.

Sansa found herself laughing.  “If it tasted as good as it smelled, I’d drink it in a heartbeat.”

“That’s what caramel lattes are for.”

Sansa shrugged.

“Or tea,” she suggested.

Ned shook his head and they began walking towards the exit to the lecture hall.  “What’s your field?” he asked.

“History.  I was political science, but I changed last semester.”

“Nice.  What prompted the change?”

She paused.  _Joffrey_ was the answer that popped immediately to mind, but it wasn’t the real reason.  The real reason was _Tyrion_.  “I had a professor who changed my perspective on things.”

“Which one?”

“Tyrion Lannister?”

“I want to take his seminar on the War of the Five Kings next semester.”

“It’s fantastic.  You should do it.  It’s utterly brilliant.”

“I’ll try.  I’ve heard it’s the best class here.  Unfortunately, that also makes it one of the harder classes to get into.  Especially if you don’t do History or PoliSci.”

“What’s your field?”

“Westerosi Studies.”

“Ahhh the indecision field!”

Ned grinned at her.  “Pretty much.  I get to have more fun that way.  Don’t need to be quite so focused.  And I suppose there isn’t anything quite as _Westerosi_ as the War of the Five Kings.  But I’ll be competing with the nutjob workaholics.”

“Like me?”

“Well…I don’t know you well enough to say nutjob or workaholic…but if you’re anything like Arya, you’re at least one of those.”

Sansa snorted.  “She works like a madwoman.  Well…she _did_ work like a madwoman.  Now she’s got a boyfriend.”

Ned was nodding, an expression of forced calm on his face.  _So he knows it’s Gendry_ , thought Sansa, amusedly.

They arrived at Chataya’s, ordered their drinks (Ned tried the Jade Dragon tea), and set to work.

Sansa discovered immediately that she was far more prepared for the exam than Ned was.  His notes were spotty at best, but he had a good memory for topics discussed in lecture.  The problem was he seemed to have only paid attention to about half of what Professor Flowers had said.  But she couldn’t bring herself to be bothered.  He sat there, joking about terms and making strange pneumonic devices to help him remember what he had forgotten.

By the time she closed her notebook, feeling as though she had studied successfully and hoping that Ned would remember everything they had talked about, she found herself wondering at the shade of blue in his eyes.  They were a darker blue than hers, and in certain light they looked violet.  But more importantly, they shone.


	8. Gendry

_Gendry Waters: Am coming back from Mott’s.  Want to do work together?_

_Arya Stark: I’m still in your room._

_Gendry Waters: So that I know what I’m coming back to, is this a yes or a no?_

She didn’t reply.

He rolled his eyes, stowed his phone away in his pocket and climbed onto his bike.

He assumed that she was probably not interested in work.  She would have asked him to pick up her books, maybe.  Or she would have mentioned how all her work was spread out over his bed already.  Or maybe, she had fallen back asleep.

But more likely, she would jump his bones when he got home.

He liked that.  But also knew better than to count on it.

He had described his relationship with Arya to his mother as completely and utterly unpredictable.  His mother had said that was probably best. 

Knowing his mother, she was probably right.

His phone buzzed while he rode, and when he reached a red light, he quickly checked it.

_Arya Stark: Meh._

Gendry rolled his eyes.  Useful.  Very useful. 

Jon was sitting on the couch when he got into the house.

“Young Arya was wearing your King’s Landing t-shirt and little else when she came down for breakfast.  Have you been naughty, Gendry?”  Aurane was standing by the stove, frying a sandwich.

Gendry rolled his eyes and Jon groaned. 

Aurane’s teasing had been worse ever since Gendry had let slip that he and Arya hadn’t actually had sex yet.  Daemon had looked shocked and Jon had banged his head on the table, saying that there were just some things an older brother should never know.

“And the sounds against your wall will probably become more unbearable when it does happen,” Aurane had pointed out, and Jon had reached for the whiskey and taken a very large sip straight from the bottle.

Gendry hoped very much that his and Arya’s sex life would not send Jon into a rampant alcoholism, the way that all evidence thus far suggested it might.

“You do realize what has to happen when the inevitable occurs, Jon?” said Daemon poking his head out of the room that Aurane had named “Daemon’s Chemistry Lair” and which Jon referred to as “Lab away from Lab.”

“No…” mumbled Jon.

“You’ll have to have sex against Gendry’s wall and see how much he likes it.”

“No,” said both Jon and Gendry, though admittedly Jon said his a little bit later and a little more thoughtfully.

“I could do it for you,” suggested Aurane.

“You are not having sex in my room, Aurane.”

“But it would be so fun!”

“No.”

“You could try the bathroom,” supplied Daemon.

“The shower is next to your room, Daemon,” said Gendry dryly.

“Who said it had to be in the shower?” Aurane’s eyes twinkled.

“Veto-ed,” said Jon.

“I second the veto,” added Gendry.

“Ahh well, I guess I will just have to plague Daemon from the bathroom.”

“You could always just plague me from your own room, the way you usually do,” called Daemon, rolling back into his lair.

“Variety is the spice of life, Daemon,” grinned Aurane.

Gendry’s phone buzzed.

_Arya Stark: Are you coming up?_

_Gendry Waters: Meh._

“Right chaps.  I’m going to go shower.”  He made towards the stairs.

“Give Young Arya a kiss from me.”

“No.”

His phone buzzed when he was just about to get in the shower, but he chose to ignore it.  He wondered vaguely as he began rubbing shampoo into his hair how annoyed Arya would be with him.  She was always funnier when she was annoyed.  And he knew the best way for her to let out her frustration.

He was glad that argument-induced-sex (or not-sex, as the case with Arya was at the moment) was not their pattern, as it had been towards the end of his relationship with Victoria.  It seemed to take very little to get Arya into the right mood, which was fantastic. 

Well, fantastic physically and emotionally.  It was really quite detrimental to his master’s thesis.  But you only live once, as his mother liked to say.

He shivered when he got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself.  He checked his phone.

_Arya Stark: As you wish._

Having no idea what she meant by that, he chucked his dirty clothes into the hamper and went into his room.

Arya was sitting naked on his bed.

He blinked and felt blood rush straight to his cock.

She blinked right back at him.

Neither of them moved, they just stared at each other.  Arya’s eyes flickered over his torso and down to the area obscured by his towel.  He glanced at her small but pert breasts before settling on the dark curls between her legs.  It was the first time he had seen them.  (He had felt them before, of course.)

When he looked back at Arya’s face, she was watching him.  Then, raising an eyebrow, she looked pointedly at the tented towel, then back to his eyes.

Gendry put his phone on the desk and dropped the towel to the ground.

Arya’s eyes widened.  He smirked and waited.

Oh, this was fun, seeing who was going to make the next move.

At last, Arya spoke.

“I really don’t see how that’s going to fit.”

Gendry was very proud that he didn’t laugh, though he did make an unseemly sputtering noise.  But that, he figured, Arya could interpret however she wanted.

“I’m fairly certain we’ll figure something out.”

He watched gooseprickles spread across her skin, watched her nipples stiffen and he knew that one of them was going to break very soon.

He wasn’t sure who it would be.

She shivered.

He crossed the room in two strides and their mouths crashed together.

He was on top of her, her breasts pressing against his chest, his hands running up and down her sides.  Her fingers were digging into his back, her tongue as dancing around his, and her smooth legs rubbing up and down his own.

That was new.

Both their legs were usually decidedly clothed, and her skin on the back of his thighs radiated a warmth that went straight to his cock.

He groaned.

Arya slipped a little bit further down beneath him and her lips were on his throat, sucking and nipping and making him feel as though the veins in his neck were doing more work than most of the rest of his body.

Well, no.  Not anymore, because Arya’s hand had slipped between them and reached for his cock and suddenly he was very aware of the beginnings of moisture at its tip because Arya’s thumb was moving in circles over the head.

He propped himself up on his hands so that she would have better access and stayed very still for a moment, breathing deeply and letting the sensation wash over him, letting his heart pick up speed, letting his breath grow ragged, seeing how much more he could let the feeling grow in him.

He pulled away from her hands.  He rolled onto his side and pulled her lips up to his, letting one hand fist in her hair so that she wouldn’t move and dropping the other one down to her breasts.  He caressed as gently as he could the soft flesh of the underside of her one breast, and he felt her shiver again.

He smiled into his kiss.

For someone who seemed physically incapable of being cold, Arya shivered constantly when she was aroused.

He brought his fingers lazily to her nipple and teased, slowly and gently at first. 

She swung one of her legs over his and began rubbing her moistened cleft against his leg.  He groaned, feeling her arousal on his thigh.

He tugged a little more forcefully at her nipple, it was her turn to emit some sort of strangled moan, and her rubbing became slightly more frantic. 

Part of Gendry wanted to turn his attention to the breast he had not wanted to focus on.  But the motion of Arya’s hips brought his hands almost unthinkingly down and he slipped his fingers between her sex and his leg.

She growled.

He laughed.

“Shut up,” she commanded.

“You just growled.”

“Shut up!” and she was pulling away from him, looking thoroughly affronted.  She was now kneeling on the bed.  Her chest was heaving, her lips were swollen, and her hair stood up on end in a way that made him want to run his hands through it.

“Hey, hey, come back!” And he was kneeling too, pulling her towards him. 

Now was one of those times when he wished he were not so much taller than her.  He had to crouch down slightly so that their faces were level, which diminished how much of her touched him when he pulled her lips to his again.

She broke the kiss though, and glared at him again.

“Was it a good growl or a bad growl,” he whispered.

“That one was a good growl.  At the moment though, it might not be.”

“I wasn’t laughing at you.  It was just unexpected.  You haven’t growled before.  What if I started growling.  You’d probably die.”

“I’d be better at hiding it because I’m not an idiot like you.”

She pushed him, and he let himself fall back onto the bed.  He watched as her eyes ran over him again.  They were so dilated, he could hardly see gray anymore.  He didn’t move.  Nor did Arya.

“Are we doing this again?” he asked after a moment.

She didn’t reply.  Instead, she reached over and ran a single fingers in a straight line down his center, from his lips down between his pecs, between his abdominal muscles and straight along his cock until she reached the very tip. 

“Do you have a condom?” she asked quietly.

He sat up and without breaking eye contact pulled open the drawer of his bedside table and fished out a foil wrapper.  Still looking at her, he broke the foil and removed the latex sheath.  She reached for it and in a way that screamed of practicing with bananas in high school sex-ed, she pinched the tip and gently rolled it down his shaft.

“You good?” he whispered.

She positioned herself over him, propping herself up on her hands as she did so.  He placed one hand on her hip.  With the other, he reached for one of her hands and slipped his fingers through hers.

She took a deep breath and pushed herself all the way down onto him.

His eyes rolled into the back of his head.  He vaguely heard her gasp, but it was lost somewhere in the sensation of a soft but firm hold around his cock, the gentle tightness that was being inside a woman’s flesh—inside Arya.

When he could control his eyes again, he looked at her.  “You ok?” he murmured.

“It’s weird.”  She wasn’t looking at him.

“You’ll get used to it.”  He tried to keep his voice as steady, as gentle as he could.

She locked eyes with him again and shifted her weight slightly so that she was more firmly resting on her shins.

Then she began to rise and fall.

“Gods,” he hissed.

He wanted to close his eyes, to let the sensation wash over him, but he couldn’t.  His eyes were locked on Arya and that was far better.

Her lips were slightly open, her breasts were bouncing very lightly as she moved and her eyes were shut.  Her brow was slightly furrowed, and she looked like she was concentrating far too hard for sex.

He slipped his hand from her hip, down, gently massaging the skin under her pubic hair and settling his thumb on her clit.  Her eyes shot open and she whimpered.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he urged.

She bit her lip and _his_ eyes almost rolled back into his head again.  But they didn’t and she closed her eyes again and he began to stroke little circles into her skin.

He was quite impressed with himself, that he had enough control over himself to be pleasuring her when all he wanted to do was to pump as hard and fast into her as he possibly could.  But that would happen later, he knew.  That would happen when Arya was ready for it—because he knew that she would probably relish a hard, fast fuck. 

Arya’s hips began to pump faster, pushing her clit into his thumb and flexing around him.  Her breath was growing more ragged, her lips were quivering—hells her whole body was quivering.

Very quickly, Gendry sat up and pressed his lips against one of her nipples, sucking and nipping very lightly.  At the same time, he pressed into her clit with his thumb and she convulsed, crying out something that was not quite his name, but not really anything else either. 

Her tremors clenching around him, he fell back against the bed, calling her name as well, the world roaring in his ears and his cock throbbing as he came.

Arya collapsed against him, her head buried in his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her.

He was suddenly aware of how warm she was, how warm he was, when his blood was flowing away from his cock and back to other extremities. 

He felt Arya press a kiss to his chest, and he tightened his arms around her, pressing one to the top of her head.

She mumbled something against his chest.

“Hmm?” he murmured.

She tilted her head slightly, so he could see her face.  “I liked that.”  He liked the expression in her eyes, the satisfied, lethargic, post-coital gentleness.

“Me too.  It was definitely a good idea on your part.”

She closed her eyes, and he wished he could tell her to open them again.  But he didn’t.

“You know, Sansa was right.”

“Oh?”

“Sex is fun.”

Gendry snorted.

“I could have told you that.”

“I know you could have.  But you’re a guy, aren’t you?”

“I suppose.”

“Let’s do it again soon.”

He smiled.

They were definitely going to drive Jon to alcoholism. 

And he couldn’t feel bad about it at all.


	9. Edric

**March**

“Do you want me to come home, though?  Because I will.  I don’t need to go to King’s Landing.”  Ned waited, holding his breath slightly.  He had a shrewd suspicion that she wouldn’t reply. 

He wasn’t wrong.

“All right.  I’m coming home.”

Allyria began to cry.

“Don’t cry, Ally.  Please don’t cry.”

“I love you, Ned,” she sobbed.  “You take such good care of me.  And I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too.  We’ll go swimming if it’s warm enough.”

“It’ll probably be freezing, but let’s go anyway.”  He hated the desperate tinge in her voice.  He hated that he could tell she wanted to go swimming just so she could feel something.

“Fair enough.  But I’ll have to see if I can find a bodysuit or something.”

“Wimp,” she said, her voice still full of tears.  But it sounded like she was at least trying to smile, which was a start.

“And proud of it.”

He could tell she was smiling when she didn’t reply.

He liked it when he could make her smile.  It was almost like the old days.  That used to make him sad, but he stopped letting it.

“I got a letter from Thoros,” she said at last.

Thoros had been in the car with Beric when they had crashed.  Thoros had come out of it with severe burns and without a left leg, while Beric’s head had been crushed and a fragmented piece of car had shot through his eyesocket and brain.

“Oh?”

“He wanted to write because he felt that what he said at Beric’s funeral wasn’t quite right, and he wanted to share some of his reflections with me.”

“That was good of him.  What sort of things did he say?”

“They were…They were really beautiful, Ned.”  He could hear tears again, but they were good tears, not bad tears.  “He talked about Beric’s spirit, and his humor, and his caring and daring and love.  He talked about how much he loved me, Ned.”

“Of course Beric loved you.  Even an idiot could see that.”

“I know.  They could see, but…Thoros just told me some of the beautiful things that Beric said.”

“That’s so nice.”

“It made me really happy, in a kind of stunted bittersweet way.  And it’s been so long since I felt happy.”

Ned wished he could hug her.  His aunt was so brave sometimes.

“And I’ll be happy when you come home,” she continued.  And she sounded as though it were true.  “We’ll have margaritas and curry and it will be just like before.”

He wished he could believe her.  He would try to.  But he didn’t know if he could.

“I look forward to it,” he grinned into the phone.  He had learned years ago that if you smiled into the phone, the smile reached your voice, even if you weren’t actually happy.  He hated that he had to use this with Allyria—not when the smiles had once come so naturally.  “Look, I have to go.  I have practice, and I should get there early to talk with Dacey and let her know I won’t be going to King’s Landing.”

“All right.  You’re the best.  I love you and can’t wait to see you.”

“I’ll talk to you soon.”

He hung up his phone, grabbed his fencing bag and made his way to the gym.

“What do you mean you can’t come to King’s Landing?” barked Dacey.  One eyebrow was arched and Ned could tell that she was not amused.

“I can’t come to King’s Landing.”

“Are you being deported?  Do you, perhaps, have a date with the powers that be in court for some heinous crime that you have committed?”

“No.”

“Are you, perhaps, going to rehabilitation for all the drugs and alcohol you do recreationally?”

“I don’t do drugs, Dacey.”

“Then pray tell, why aren’t you going to be at the tournament?  We have less than two weeks before we all head over.  Your name’s been down to compete since July.”

“And I have to go home.  I have family reasons.”

Dacey glared at him, still breathing heavily, but her jaw softened.  “I’ll go talk to Thorne,” she said at last.  She turned on her heel and crossed the court to where the head coaches were meeting.

He watched Thorne’s face go purple, and watched him glare across the room.

“Everything all right?”

Pod and Brienne had come over before warm ups. 

“I can’t go to King’s Landing.”

Brienne hissed as she drew in breath.  “Why not?”

“Family stuff.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”  She clapped a hand on his shoulder.  “If you need anything, let me know.  Come on, Payne.  Let’s see what we can do today.”  She made her way to a lane.

“Your aunt?” asked Pod quietly.

Ned nodded.  It was a jerkier nod than he had anticipated.

“Sorry, mate.”  Pod grimaced. 

“Thanks,” Ned muttered.

“It’s probably best though, yeah?”

“Yes, probably.”  Ned suddenly felt unbelievably bitter.

He watched Pod backpedal to the lane where Brienne was waiting for him, watched the two of them take stance, then begin.  He sat on the bench, waiting for Dacey, suddenly not really wanting to fence.

“You ok?”  Arya was standing next to him, her mask tucked under her arm.  The telltale bruises on her neck that were appearing with increasing frequency were just visible under her collar.

“Yeah, fine,” he mumbled.  “I can’t go to the tournament.”

“Oh.”

She didn’t ask why.  She only nodded, and he was strangely grateful that he didn’t have to give her an explanation.

“Want to come round after practice?  Sansa’s making cookies and I plan to rant to her about things.  You could come and rant too.”

“What things?”

“Oh, whatever I feel like.  Rants and cookies go well together.”

Ned chuckled.

“Thanks.  I’ll think about it.” 

She nodded again, then made her way to her lane where Syrio was waiting for her.

“Ready?” asked Dacey.

“Is he going to gut me?” Ned asked, standing up again.

“Possibly.  I think he couldn’t tell if he wanted to gut or decapitate you.  But something’s coming your way.  It’ll be fine though.”

“Ok.”

“Guard.”

And Ned raised his sword.


	10. Arya

“I bet you have, haven’t you, you saucy minx,” grinned Roslin over the wine glass.

Arya nodded. 

“And?”

Arya took a sip of wine before countering, “And what?”

“Did you like it?”

“Well, we’ve had sex six times since then, so…”

Roslin let out a whoop, and Sansa exclaimed “Arya, well done!”

“Hang on, hang on, hang on,” said Roslin.  “Sheer number of times does not mean that you liked it.  It might mean that Gendry’s fucking horny and Arya’s more compliant in the sack than we thought.”

Sansa snorted and Arya rolled his eyes.

“It was just a thought.  I’ll leave it if you believe it.”

“I can’t fathom Arya being compliant in bed.”

“Thanks, Sansa.”

“Anytime, love.  What made it happen?  Are you in love with him?”  There was something hopeful in Sansa’s voice, something wistful. 

Arya shrugged.  “Just felt like it, didn’t I?”

“I suppose that’ll do it.  In any case, a toast,” Sansa raised her glass, “to Arya.  For all the sex.”

“To Arya.”

“To me.  Now let’s talk about Roslin’s sex life.”

She leaned back in her chair, hoping that it would work.

“I second this.  I mean, I hear enough down the hall, but I must know, have you been training Uncle Edmure?”

Roslin blushed.

“Oh-ho!  Let’s hear about this.”

Arya knew better than to sigh in relief.  At some point in the past month, she had realized that the best way not to have to talk about things was to comply and then deflect.  She had noticed it the week before, when Roslin had employed the tactic perfectly to distract them from her brother’s drug overdose.  She hadn’t been ready to talk about it then, though she had mentioned it that weekend. 

And Arya really, _really_ didn’t feel like going into the details.

If she shared it, she might dilute it, and she wasn’t ready for that—not yet. 

She barely listened as Roslin talked happily about sex positions.  She was remembering Gendry’s thumb on her clit, his lips on her neck, the smell of sweat and cum on his sheets.  When she blinked, she could see the way his face would go slack when he came, the slight tilt of his cock to the left, the sensation of his fingers running lines up and down her spine when she lay on his chest.

She wasn’t ready to share that with anyone.  Not even Gendry, when he asked her what she was thinking in her post-coital haze. 

She didn’t want to tell anyone that she was already thinking of positions that she wanted to fuck Gendry in.  That she was already entertaining the prospect of various toys into their bed—which she had heard from Aurane made everything better. 

She didn’t want to tell anyone that the look in Gendry’s eyes when he saw her naked was something that she never wanted to forget—the raw want tinged with something she was still working out.

She had thought that would scare her.  But it didn’t.

It turned her on.

It was part of why she and Gendry had had sex three times that first day.

She couldn’t even feel annoyed at how sore she felt afterwards.  She was used to feeling sore, and sex-sore was better than any other kind of sore.

It was a squeal that brought her attention back to the room.

“And I said that if he wanted that, he’d better go out and find another man for the job.”

“You _know_ that’s not what he meant right?” grinned Sansa.

“If he wants a threesome, he’d better be open to any kind of threesome.  Besides, I’ve always been curious about double penetration.”

Sansa squealed again.  Arya almost spat out her wine.

Roslin winked at them.

“Please tell me you told Robb this.”

Roslin started laughing now.  “Nope.  He’d probably have turned purple at the very prospect.  Ahh well.” 

“ _Stop picturing my brother and uncle in bed with you_ ,” commanded Arya.

Roslin took a sip of her wine and winked again.

“Sansa’s turn.  Any cock in your life?”

Sansa raised her eyebrows.

“Sorry,” said Roslin.  “It’s just that’s been the theme for a while now.”

“Why do we always end up talking about sex?” asked Sansa.

“Because sex is interesting?”

“Yeah, but I’m not having any, so…”

“How about this.  Anyone or anything been on your mind lately?”

Sansa leaned back in her chair, thinking.

“It’s funny.  I’ve just realized that I tend not to think about Joffrey unless someone asks me what’s on my mind.”

“That’s great!” exclaimed Roslin.

“Congratulations.”

Sansa flushed slightly.  “Thanks.  It’s weird.  It feels almost normal.  And then I remember him.  But it’s a different kind of memory from what it used to be like.  It’s one that’s kind of blurry and fuzzy.  And I know it’s not quite right, you know?  I know it’s distorted.  I can’t remember the good things, so I don’t feel bad about them, and the bad things don’t hurt so much anymore.”

“To the healing process,” Roslin raised her glass.

“To the healing process.”  Sansa and Arya raised their own glasses, and all three of them took deep sips.

“Are you still scared?”  Arya watched Sansa closely, expecting her to disengage, or at least drink more wine.  But her sister met her gaze evenly.

“Less.  I think.  I don’t know.  The context is different.  I think it’s probably still there, but it doesn’t consume me.”

Arya nodded.

“I think that I’d be more scared if I wanted to date someone.  But I don’t at the moment.”

There was a pause.  Then, Roslin asked, “No one?”

Sansa laughed.

“Well, maybe the fine Ned Dayne,” she teased.

“Seven hells,” said Arya.

Sansa only laughed harder.

“He’s got such lovely eyes, Arya.  Big and blue and delightful.  And that hair!” her voice was sing-songy in a way that Arya hadn’t heard in such a long time. 

She began laughing too and soon she and Sansa were leaning on each other, hooting away.

“You two are drunk,” grinned Roslin.

“Perhaps.”

“But the love’s real, Roslin.  The love’s real,” announced Sansa, settling back in her chair.


	11. Sansa

“Yes, I know that.  I know that.  I am also aware…Lancel’s an idiot.  I just.  As you say.  I really should go.  I have a student.  Yes, we will speak later.  No I haven’t spoken with him and have no intention to.”

Tyrion looked over at Sansa apologetically and raised a finger, mouthing _one minute_.  She nodded and waved her hands, hoping to convey that she didn’t mind waiting.

“I don’t give a damn what Cersei says.  It really doesn’t matter.  I will not talk to him.  No.  No.”

She loved the sound of his voice, how determined and caustic he was with even the tiniest of words.  She wondered who he was talking to.  (She could guess whom they were talking about.) 

Sansa sat patiently in Tyrion’s office looking at everything she could.  The lights were off, and the room was blue-gray in the afternoon light.  Books covered every surface, and were layered two deep in his bookshelves.  Some of them had to be taped together with masking tape because he had used them a little too well.  His desk was littered with papers, and the odd knickknack—a Meereenese pyramid, a toy dragon, a letter opener with a lion handle. 

She glanced out the window down onto the quad.  The snow was melting, and she saw some boys playing Frisbee on the green.  Their shouts came dimly through the glass panes.

“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” said Tyrion at last.

“It’s no trouble.”

“I began reading through the chapter notes you sent me.  They’re fine.  I could do with a little more about Stark troop movements though, if there’s documentation of it.”

Sansa frowned.

“I can look again.  There wasn’t anything in the archive.  One gets the impression that the Young Wolf was excessively paranoid and burned a lot of his documents.  Or that they were destroyed in the mayhem surrounding the Red Wedding.”

Tyrion nodded.  Then he sighed.  “A fine moment in Lannister history, that one.  Ahh well.  It would have been useful.  Especially since we only have second hand accounts of the Whispering Wood.”

“I can look again.  Dad might know something.  I can ask him later.”

“Alternatively, get in touch with the archivist in King’s Landing.  He stopped responding to my emails years ago, but is usually good with new people.  Maybe you could come with me over spring break and we could do some research there.”

“I’m afraid the Ballroom Dancing team is going to Dorne.”

“That sounds nice.  Some warmth after this rather frigid winter.  Although we are further south than most of Dorne.  Weather patterns."  He shrugged, then glanced at her over the top of his reading glasses.  "I suppose you find it only to be a light chill.”

Sansa smiled.  “It’s been chilly.  Arya’s been in heaven.  But I’ve been fine.  I’m not much for the cold.”

“I imagine all your Starkish ancestors just turned over in their graves.”

“Probably," she nodded.

“Well, be proud of it.  Nothing so good as the member of the family who breaks tradition.  I’m the only member of my family to pursue higher education beyond the basic university degree.”

“I don’t see how that’s quite like not liking the cold.”

“It’s a matter of nature.  Shows a drive to survive, to be self-sustaining.  Or at the very least, not freeze your pants off every winter.”

Sansa laughed.

“And, it’s better than the alternative.  My nephew Tommen—charming boy.  Truly charming.  But he’ll never go anywhere in life because he spends too much time doing what his mother says.  Not a rebellious bone in his body.  Would that he and Joffrey could meet somewhere in the middle.  Then they’d both be quite perfect.”

“It would probably take a lot more than Tommen to make Joff perfect.”

Tyrion gazed at her with his mismatched eyes.  She knew that he hadn’t been thinking when he had mentioned Joffrey’s name.  He was always so careful around her whenever the subject of Joffrey came close to being brought up.  But he was gauging her reaction now, both to his own speech and her response.

She broke the silence.  “It’s not being too adventurous that is Joff’s flaw.”

“You still call him Joff,” Tyrion said at last.  “I would have thought that it was too much an endearment.”

Sansa paused, considering.  “It’s never occurred to me not to call him Joff.  That’s what I called him, that’s as much who he is as Joffrey is, and it takes less time to say.  I don’t think…”

“I didn’t mean to imply,” said Tyrion quickly, “I only remarked upon it as something that I had noticed.  Indeed, I think that you can call him Joff shows tremendous strength.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.  It doesn’t hurt to call him the name you used when you loved him.”

She cocked her head, considering.

“Maybe it’s because I’m sleeping more and that makes everything easier, but I feel like everything to do with him is getting further and further away.”

“It was almost a year ago.”

“Yes, but the panic attack was pretty real, and that was only a few months ago.”

“I feel like a psychology professor would have an answer for you.  I’m afraid I do not.  We perceive time moving in strange ways.  You hear stories of people falling in love over the course of years.  You also hear stories of people falling in love in the span of thirty seconds.  Which one is more true?  I don’t know.  I just know that time is not the massive regulator we think it is.  If you feel strange about how fast you are healing, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.  Provided, of course, that you are actually healing.”

Sansa smiled.

“Can you tell that to my mum.  Maybe she’ll let me ditch my crap therapist.”

“I would never interfere on that front, I’m afraid.”

“Ahh well.”

“Back to work.  I think the next step for you would be to look at either the Western Campaigns and the Westerling girl, or to swing over to the Vale of Arryn and look at Lord Littlefinger’s politicking there.  Which would you prefer?”

“The Vale should be interesting.”

“Very well then.  There are some interesting accounts from the Eyrie’s maester about all that.  They _might_ , and I can’t promise this, even be digitized.  At least some of them.  I know that that’s something that they were beginning to do, but I don’t know if they’ve gotten as far as the five kings.  Email Yohn Royce about that.  I’ll send you his email.”

“Would there be anything in King’s Landing? Letters he might have sent the small council?  I could email the archivist when I write him about the Young Wolf’s records.”

“Couldn’t hurt.  There probably wouldn’t be very much, or they would be hard to find.”  Tyrion stood up.  “I am afraid that my uncle’s phone call took up more time than I wanted.  I have to go to my graduate students.  But this should all be fine.”

“Great.”  Sansa stood as well.

“As always a pleasure, Sansa.”

“See you soon.”

“Will I see you before break?  Probably not?”

“Unless you think it’s necessary.”

“Don’t worry about it.  Enjoy Dorne.  Get a suntan or a tattoo or something.”

“Because those are on the same level,” snorted Sansa.  She waved goodbye and he closed the door behind her. 

On the way out of the History Department, she passed the boys playing Frisbee.  She saw Ned and waved to him. 

He waved back, and the Frisbee hit him in the head.

He made a face and she laughed.  A moment later, he was jogging over to her.  “You didn’t see that,” he grinned.

“See what?” she teased, winking.

“Exactly.  Want to play?”

Sansa glanced at the game.  It looked intense.  At least three boys were covered in mud and one of the girls had pulled off her shirt and was only running around in a sports bra.

“I don’t think I’m dressed for it,” she said at last, gesturing to her heels.

“Fair enough.  What were you up to?”  He nodded to the History building.

“Meeting with Tyrion Lannister about some research.”

“Plots and intrigues and dragons?”

“Pretty much.”

“Sounds like it’s going to be a sexy book.”

Sansa snorted.  “Well, they were all having lots of sex all the time with everything that moved.”

Ned’s eyes shot up.  “Really?”

“Well, I exaggerate slightly.  The Dragon Queen took quite a few lovers though.  And the Young Wolf lost his life and the war because he couldn’t keep it in his pants.”

“I had heard that.”

“It’s true.”

“What’s it like being related to him?”

“Well, my family’s descended from his youngest brother.  So…I don’t think we got any of those genes.  We got the ones that survived Skagos and the Long Winter.”

“Well done, that.”

“Why thank you.  I had nothing to do with it though.”

He chuckled.

“Oy, Dayne.  You gonna flirt all day or come play Frisbee like a man?” shouted the shirtless girl.

“I should get back,” said Ned.

“Happy Frisbee.  Don’t make any more unseeable errors.”

He began backpedaling away from her.  “What are you talking about, Sansa?  I think you’re imagining things.”

“Of course not.”

“Study after lecture tomorrow?”

“Sure.  See you then.”

She laughed and waved at him.  He turned and leapt into the air, catching the Frisbee, then took off sprinting.  He looked like he was flying he was running so fast.

Sansa caught her eyes following him for a moment longer than they should have.  She tucked her hair behind her ear and turned away, making her way towards the library.

Her heart almost stopped, but she forced it to keep going, forced her legs to keep moving, forced her face to stay still.

Joffrey was standing on the other side of the green, glaring at her.


	12. Gendry

It was funny watching the snow grow as the train moved steadily inland.  Most of Oldtown’s snow had melted the week before, when, just to screw with them, the weather decided to be unseasonably warm.  This warmth had not left the coast it seemed.  The further up he went, the deeper the snow.

Gendry loved the trains in Westeros, how fast they went, how quiet they were, and, more importantly, how cheap if you had a student ID.  Anything, _anything_ , was better than the twelve hour bus-ride between Oldtown and King’s Landing, which he had braved on his way back home for the midwinter break when he had been too late to buy train tickets.

Arya was probably stuck in traffic on the Roseroad.  The fencing team’s bus might not have even reached Horn Hill, but Gendry’s train would be stopping at Highgarden soon enough. 

He shifted slightly in his seat and looked east.  The sky was already darkening and he knew it would be pitch black before he reached home.

Home.  It felt like _ages_ since he’d been home, even though he had been there in January.  Why was it so different going home now?  He was only halfway through asking the question when he knew the answer.

Arya.

Arya would be there.  Well, not in his house—she would be staying with her brother Robb on Visenya’s hill.  (Gendry pictured a posh little flat with chrome fixtures and colorless furniture.) 

But she would be in King’s Landing.  He would spend the next day showing her around his city, visiting his school, taking her to see the first garage he had worked in, introducing her to his mum, showing her a part of his life that she hadn’t seen yet.

It brought a smile to his face. 

He imagined sitting with Arya on the docks, watching the cats skirt the boats in hope that they could sneak on and hunt for rats.  He imagined her ranting about how cats were stupid compared to dogs.  He imagined her pulling his face down to kiss him.

He hoped he could convince her to stay over with him at least one night.  Well, he was fairly confident he could do that; he really hoped that it didn’t result in Robb hunting him down and gutting him.  From what he had been able to gather from his first meeting with Arya’s eldest brother, Robb was much more high strung than Jon. 

He’d love to fuck Arya in his bed.  He’d only ever slept with Victoria there and he wanted something to wash memories of that catastrophe away.

His phone buzzed.

_Arya Stark: If we don’t move soon, I will climb out a window and leap onto the next bullet train.  Literally three of them have passed us now and we haven’t moved at all._

_Gendry Waters: Congestion is a problem.  Am at Highgarden.  Let me know if you won’t make it before tomorrow._

_Arya Stark: Grumblegrumble_

_Gendry Waters: Try sleeping.  It might go faster._

_Arya Stark: If I close my eyes I think of you and that’s far too distracting to let me sleep._

_Gendry Waters: Then think of me.  I’m thinking of you._

_Arya Stark: Naughty boy.  You’re in public._

Gendry snorted.

She did that a lot, deflect a more serious intent into the realm of something jokey, or sexual.  He just assumed it was because she didn’t know how to be in love.  That would change.

He was in love with her.  He had realized it the other night, when he had gone over to her house and sat studying with her for three hours while she worked on a paper for her Historical Linguistics class.  She had fallen asleep at her desk, and he had picked her up and brought her to the bed.

The way the moon fell on her skin and made it glow nearly stopped his heart.  She had looked so serene, so sweet.  Then, in her sleep, she had mumbled his name and he had just known. 

It scared him a bit.  It actually probably scared him more to love Arya than it scared her to be loved by him.  She didn’t know (and probably wouldn’t for a while) what to make of his love, and he would be stuck wondering if it would end.

He didn’t want it to end.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.  That was what scared him.  Terrified him, really.  He wasn’t supposed to know who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.  And most logic would dictate that he pick someone less insane than Arya Stark.

But his mother had always told him that reason and love had nothing to do with one another, and he was now beginning to understand just how true that was.

He leaned back in his seat, and closed his eyes, wondering if he could nap for a bit.

In his mind’s eye, he saw Arya.  She was smiling wickedly at him and wearing a rather flimsy excuse for a goldcoat’s uniform.

It went straight to his cock and he opened his eyes.

He sent her another message.

_Gendry Waters: Seeing what you mean.  Shall mend my ways._

_Arya Stark: Naughty.  We’re moving!  Kind of…  I think there was an overturned pig-truck or something.  Can’t quite tell.  Shall keep you posted._

_Gendry Waters:_ _Can’t wait to hear more._

They’d been dating for nearly four months now.  It seemed so much longer.  Though he supposed that last semester had been a largely crazy time.  Indeed, at this point last semester, he was still quite convinced that he was a lecher and Arya was a pervert.  (Admittedly, both were true, but he’d made his peace with it.)

He felt his phone buzz again, and he saw his mother calling.

“Hello,” he said quietly.

“Hello.  Are you on schedule?”

“Yep.  We pulled through Highgarden.”

“Excellent.  I’m making chicken pie.  Should be done by the time you get home.”

“Do you need me to pick anything up?”

“If you’re still not drinking, then no.  Otherwise we could do with some more beer.”

“I can get some for you anyway, if you like.”

“Eh.  I’ll be fine.  You said Arya’s not coming with you tonight?”

“No.  She’s on a bus with her team.”

“Poor girl.  There was a bit on the news about an overturned pig truck.”

“Yeah.”

“How does one overturn a pig truck?”

“Couldn’t tell you.”

“Traffic’s pretty backed up, though.  They might not make it out of the Reach before the morning.”

“She’ll love that.  She’s going mental on the bus.”

“What kind of mental.”

“The kind that really shouldn’t be as funny as it is.”

“I like the sound of this.  I really am looking forward to meeting her, you know.”

“I know.  You’ve said this, ten or twelve times already, mum.”

“Well, I insist on having some time with her without you.  I need to scare her off.”

“Mum,” Gendry warned.

“It’s a mother’s prerogative.”

“Oh gods.  Please behave yourself.  At least slightly?”

“I’ll consider it.  I am definitely going to have to break out the baby photos.  You can’t begrudge me the baby photos.”

“Yes I can.  Watch me do it.”

“But you were so adorable!  Especially the one where you’re crying because your ice cream fell on the ground.”

“I still wonder how I like you after that.  I’m bawling my eyes out and you decide it’s a great time to take a picture.”

“It was.  I have no regrets.”

“Obviously, since you’ve shown that photo to every girlfriend I’ve ever had.”

“And they all think it’s adorable.”

“Maybe that’s why I break up with them.”

“Oh stop it.  You break up with them because of nothing related to the fact they laugh at distressed baby Gendry.”

“Maybe that’s just what I tell you?”

“Of course that’s not true.”

Gendry sighed.  She knew him far too well.

“I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Good.  Anything else?”

“I think that’s everything.  I’ll see you soon?”

“Should pull in around eight.”

“Excellent.  Ta, love.”

“Bye.”

Gendry loved his mother, and he wasn’t entirely sure what he would do without her, but she could be an infuriating woman.  He had a shrewd suspicion that she and Arya would get on far too well, and then he’d be in for it.

He sighed and sent Arya another text.

_Gendry Waters: Mum intends to grill you.  Consider yourself forewarned._

_Arya Stark: It’s only fair.  You had to sit next to my dad at dinner.  Horn Hill!  And no traffic!_

_Gendry Waters: Really?  Mum was saying it was very backed up._

_Arya Stark: I don’t question it, I just report it._

_Gendry Waters: That’s healthy._

A moment later.

_Arya Stark: I miss you, you know.  It’s stupid because I’m about to see you.  But I feel as though I’m not._

Gendry’s heart soared. 

_Gendry Waters: I miss you too.  And will see you very soon, despite feelings to the contrary._

_Arya Stark: You should be proud of me, I almost didn’t send that._

_Gendry Waters:  Very proud.  More than expressible via text message._

_Arya Stark: Reading that without snark because it makes me happy._

_Gendry Waters: There was no snark to infer._

_Arya Stark: Good._

Yes, it was good.  It was very, very good.


	13. Arya

**King’s Landing**

Arya awoke to the smell of bacon and groaned.  She heard the clicking of claws on the hardwood floor and lifted an eyelid.

Grey Wind was standing there, his tail wagging happily at the sight of her.

“I don’t want to get up,” she told the dog.

It was true.

The bus had pulled into King’s Landing at three in the morning.  Most of her teammates had stumbled upstairs to bed instantly, but Arya had had to wait half an hour for Robb to come pick her up.  She hadn’t fallen asleep until it was nearly well past five.  She glanced at the clock on the desk.  Ten thirty, it read in bright red letters.

She pulled herself out of bed and stumbled down the hallway.

The apartment was on the small end.  Robb had set up a futon for her in what was usually his office, and that office was right next to the kitchen.

“Good morning, sunshine,” grinned Robb, flipping a pancake and ruffling her hair.

“You’re chipper.”

He pointed to the coffee mug on the counter.  “Want some?”

“Yes.”

She hadn’t drunk coffee until Gendry.  And she still didn’t ordinarily.

Robb poured her a mug, then handed her a plate of pancakes, eggs, and bacon.  “Do you usually make this nice a breakfast, or am I special?”

“You’re special,” he smiled.  “I need to at least pretend to be presentable so you don’t send mum down my throat.”

“Well, the bribery is working,” she said with her mouth full of bacon.

“Don’t speak with your mouth full.”

She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Where’s Jeyne?” she asked after a moment.  She hadn’t met Robb’s girlfriend before, and she had to confess a curiosity.

“She went to get some groceries.  You’re having dinner with us.  And that’s final.  Your team can have you for the rest of break, but I want one square meal with my sister.”

She nodded.  “Fair enough.  But Gendry’s coming.”

“Ahh yes, Gendry.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“I’m reserving judgment.  He’s old, Arya.”

“So are you.”

“Precisely.  He’s my age.”

“And that makes him unworthy?”

“No, it means that I know what it’s like to be a man my age.  And I wouldn’t approve of me dating someone your age.”

“That’s because you’re stupid.  Gendry’s not.”

“Eat your pancakes.  I’m reserving judgment.”

She was going to argue with him, but then her phone buzzed.

_Gendry Waters: When can I steal you from your family?_

_Arya Stark: Soon, please._

“Gendry wants to know when I’m free.  Do we have plans apart from dinner?”

Robb glanced at her, then shook his head.  “Be back by seven.”  She popped the rest of her food in her mouth.  “That’s disgusting Arya.”  She would have stuck her tongue out at him, but it was too occupied.

When she swallowed the rest of her breakfast (a gargantuan task), she took a quick shower then threw on whatever was sitting at the top of her suitcase and hurried towards the door.  Upon opening it, she found herself face to face with a young woman carrying three large grocery bags.

“Oh!  Hello.  You must be Arya!”  She was smiling somewhat timidly.

“Jeyne, yeah?  Here, let met take one of those.”

“Yes.  Thank you.”

“Hello,” Robb smiled when they entered the kitchen.

“They were out of eggplant.  Already.  It’s not even eleven and they were out of eggplant,” she sighed.

“It’ll be fine.”

“I know.”  She leaned into a kiss, and Arya felt suddenly like she was intruding on a very private moment.  When the kiss broke, Robb pressed another one on Jeyne’s forehead, his arm draped lazily over her waist. 

“I’m off,” she said loudly, and turned back to the door.

“Seven.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Gendry was standing outside the building.

“Hello.”  She popped onto tiptoes to press a kiss to the underside of his jaw.  “Where to?”

She spent the day with Gendry walking through the streets of King’s Landing in the light March rain, getting thoroughly soaked and laughing at everything she saw.  Gendry could barely stop kissing her, and she enjoyed every second of it.  He showed her the docks, and she looked out at the Narrow Sea.  They climbed Aegon’s High Hill to stand outside the Red Keep (though they didn’t feel like coughing up five Dragons each to go inside).  He showed her the university campus, he showed her where he had gone to high school, elementary school, preschool.  He showed her a secret way up onto the city walls so that you didn’t have to pay the fee for the view. 

She liked the city all right, she supposed.  It was fine, even in the grey weather and the chilly rain.  But it was Gendry’s excitement that made the city come alive for her.

The places where he had played street hockey with his friends, where his grandparents had lived before they had died, where he had found Mittens, the kitten he and his mother had raised for most of his life.

The city was drenched in Gendry and for that, she adored it.

In the mid-afternoon, he took her to his apartment.  His mother was on her way out the door, but she grinned when she saw Arya for the first time.  Ann Piper was a tall woman, though not as tall as Gendry.  Admittedly, she looked very little like her son, though they shared blue eyes.  Her hair was flaxen and wispy where Gendry’s was dark and wiry.  She was fair where Gendry was swarthy and she seemed almost not to fit her frame.  Like Gendry, she was very large, but unlike her son she did not have muscles bulging everywhere, leaving her bony and too tall.

She gave Arya a giant hug and said “We’re going to get along, I think.  There’s some coffee cake in the fridge if you are interested.” And she was gone. 

Gendry took Arya upstairs, and they fucked against the door of his bedroom.  She felt wildly gleeful that when she cracked her eyes open, she saw a room that was, like the city, wholly Gendry’s, complete with posters of rock bands and the odd photograph.  It made her heart race faster, and when she came, she was glad that she was planted firmly between him and his door.

When it was over, Gendry pulled her onto his bed and they lay in silence for a while.  Gendry was asleep in minutes, lying on his stomach with one arm thrown over Arya.

She couldn’t sleep, but sat there anyway, running her fingers through his head.

_Jon Snow: Feel the need to warn you that Robb’s going to be in fine form tonight.  If you and Gendry have gotten up to your—ahem—usual activities, might want to make sure you’re presentable first._

_Arya Stark: You’re a good brother, Jon._

_Jon Snow: Please remember this next time you wish to assail my ears with things that make me sad while I am trying to fall asleep._

_Arya Stark: Shall consider it.  All well?_

_Jon Snow: I’m in the Godswood right now.  Nymeria is sad you’re not here.  She keeps tugging at me as if hoping that I’ll wrestle with her._

_Arya Stark: Awww, Nymeria!  Give her a big kiss from me._

_Jon Snow: She’ll probably bite my nose off if I try._

_Arya Stark: Not you.  Maybe if you were Robb she would._

_Jon Snow: All the same, shall wait until she’s asleep._

_Arya Stark: Coward._

_Jon Snow: Am not a coward.  Your dog is ferocious.  Everyone says so._

_Arya Stark: No, not coward.  Coward is too gentle.  Craven.  You’re a craven._

_Jon Snow: Yeah yeah._

“Who’re you texting?” mumbled Gendry.

“Jon.  He thinks we should shower before we head to Robb’s.  Robb is going to grill you, so you shouldn’t look like you’ve been fucking me.”

“Can we fuck in the shower?”

“I suppose,” sighed Arya, pretending to sound long suffering.

“All right then.”

With a speed that surprised her, he pulled her up off the bed and towards the bathroom.


	14. Edric

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a snowpocalypse going on. And I can't do anything because I'm snowed into my dorm. So here's another chapter. Enjoy, and for those of you in the NE US, be safe!

**Starfall**

There were three things that Ned liked particularly about being home.

The first was the wind.  He was not one for the stand-still cold of winter, but if you put him on top of the Palestone Sword as the sun was setting, when not even a windbreaker could keep the air whisking past him at bay, he felt shivers in his spine that had nothing to do with the cold. The second was the sunshine.  It got cloudy in Oldtown, which had the same weather patterns of the Reach.  A true Dornishman, Ned hated cloudy days with a vengeance.  Even if Starfall was on the very edge of Dorne, it was still bright all the time, and he liked it that way. The last was dawn.  Ned assumed it had something to do with being so high in the mountains, but dawn was more brilliant at home than it was at school.  The red light spilling over purple ridges alone was enough to make him realize why the first Daynes had chosen purple as their house color all those thousands of years before.

Ned was sitting atop the Palestone Sword at dawn, thinking about how perfect it was to be home, doing his best to forget that he’d spent most of the night sitting with Allyria while she tried not to cry into his shoulder.

It was hardest when she tried not to cry. 

He could forget it all if he was up on the spire, though.

His great uncle had forbidden him from going up the Palestone Sword when he was a kid.  He didn’t want little Ned falling off, and was haunted by the niece who had leapt. When he was fourteen, Ned had climbed the circling staircase for the first time, his heart in his throat and, when the wind buffeted him so much that his fingers almost froze and fell off, he found he wasn’t afraid.

It was a place for bravery, a place for comfort, a place for peace.

Gods he needed that now.

He wished he were at the fencing tournament.  Sparring with Dacey or competing against some twit from the Vale would at least make him feel like he was doing something for the good of others (in that case, the good of Oldtown’s fencing reputation). 

Allyria smiled whenever she saw him, but he didn’t think that his presence was making anything better. 

That was the hardest.

There had been a time when just being near Allyria would make her seem happier than before.  When she had come home from University to visit him, to laugh and talk about Beric Dondarrion and love and parties and friends, he felt that his being near her made everything perfect.

He didn’t know how to handle the fact that that wasn’t the case.  How being with her didn’t make her happier, it just made her marginally less sad.

She never came up here with him.  He used to hate it, that this was the one place he couldn’t share with her and the one place where he felt so vividly alive.  But Allyria remembered Ashara and how she died and refused to climb even so much as halfway up the stairs.

He’d brought Marta up twice.  The first time, Marta had been terrified, scared that she would fall or that he would.  But he had held onto her tight and buried his face in her neck and pointed to different points along the Dornish coastline. The second time, Marta had given him a blow job, and when he came, he had been scared that he would lose his balance and they would both topple away. They didn’t though.

He wondered briefly where Marta was, what she was doing.  Their breakup had been amicable, logical, but they had not maintained even so much as a semblance of contact.  He hadn’t seen her since he had left for Oldtown and she had headed east to Sunspear and only thought about her when he was at his loneliest.

He yawned and pulled out his phone, checking his email.

Service was crap on top of the tower, where the castle’s wifi couldn’t reach him and the mobile network was shoddy because of the mountains.  But he didn’t feel like descending back into reality just yet.  And he wasn’t quite exhausted enough for bed.

_To: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_From: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: Starfall_

_Hello,_

_The Ballroom Dancing team is going to be doing an invitational and workshop at the Starfall School sometime during the second week of break.  We’ll be staying over in town.  Want to grab a meal/tea(/coffee)?_

_-Sansa_

He smiled. 

No, smiling was an understatement.  But grinning would be an overstatement.  It was something in between.  Something that he suspected looked remarkably goofy.

Something about Sansa Stark brought this goofy-smile-thing to his face whenever he thought about her.  Or spoke to her.

Last semester, he had thought that he had fancied Arya, who was feistiness and fire.  Arya, who made him laugh and forget that everything had fallen apart around him, and who told him he was stupid.  Yet she had not been what he had wanted in the end.  She had not wanted him, she had not needed him, and Ned had realized that he did not like being superfluous—at least not to the person he wanted to date.  He had thought that was that and had gone so far as to settle into an even friendship with Arya, even befriended her sister. 

And now, though he had told himself not to, he couldn’t help wondering if he didn’t fancy Sansa. 

No.  He didn’t wonder.  He knew.  Damn it all.

She probably didn’t want anything to do with him—at least, not that way.  She probably just wanted a friend, someone who wasn’t Joffrey to make her laugh.

Well, he could do that.  He was used to being someone a broken girl could rely on.

He leaned his head against the spire again, and did his best not to think of Allyria as broken.  She was, of course, but it undid him just a tad to make him think that he couldn’t put her back together.

He didn’t want to think about putting Allyria back together.  It scared him that it might be impossible.

Then, he thought of Sansa again, and hope filled his heart.  He remembered Arya at the end of last semester—a mess because her sister was in the hospital, because her sister had had a giant panic attack.  He remembered wondering if Arya would also have someone broken to take care of.

But Sansa had pulled together remarkably well.  Admittedly, the cause of her whatever-it-was was different from Allyria’s but maybe…

He sighed.

He really should know better than to be hopeful about Allyria.

He hoped that she was sleeping now (she didn’t sleep enough), but she probably wasn’t.  She was probably staring out her window at the sea.

He looked back at his phone, at Sansa’s email.

He’d reply later, savor the contact.  He didn’t have to do it now.  And besides, typing emails on his phone was a bitch and a half.


	15. Arya

**King’s Landing**

Robb was already gone when Arya woke up.  But Jeyne was awake, smiling and offering oatmeal and being generally far too perky given the hour.

“Coffee?” she offered when Arya stumbled into the kitchen, her muscles screaming after her intensified sparring regimen that Syrio had started the day before.

Arya shook her head.

“When does the tournament start?” asked Jeyne, settling across the breakfast bar and looking far too interested in conversation.

“Tomorrow morning.  We have another free day today.”

“Are you planning to go sight-seeing again?”

“Yes.”  If by sight-seeing, she meant Gendry-seeing. Then, she remembered.  “I’m having lunch with his mum today.  Just the two of us.”

“Ooh!  That’ll be nice.”

“I suppose.”

“Are you nervous?”  Jeyne’s eyes were very round.  Arya wondered suddenly if Jeyne had met her mum.  She knew that Roslin had when she and Robb were still dating, but as far as she knew, Jeyne had never had the opportunity to meet Catelyn Stark.  She could only sit and wonder what her boyfriend's mother might think of her, especially given how their relationship had started.

As for Arya, she didn’t really know.  Gendry’s mum had seemed nice enough the few times that they had met in passing.

“I’m sure it will be fine.  I can’t imagine why she wouldn’t like you.” 

Arya did her best to relay nothing, despite the fact that she was wholly uninterested in what Jeyne perceived.  Something about the way that Jeyne simpered made Arya feel very uncharitable.  Perhaps because she sensed that Jeyne was trying to curry favor with the Stark clan by making a positive impression.  Or perhaps that she couldn’t help comparing her to Roslin.

Or maybe it was just that she didn’t particularly appreciate people giving her advice when she didn’t ask for it.  That could also have been it.

She checked her phone.  There was nothing except a few group-texts from the team planning to meet up and visit the Grand Sept of Baelor, or the Red Keep.  Some people were planning on clubbing in the Dragonpit later.

As soon as she could, she slipped back to her tiny room and dressed in what she supposed were nice enough clothes.  Then, she grabbed her umbrella, called goodbye to Jeyne and scurried out the door.

“You’re here early,” smiled Gendry.  He was only wearing sweatpants, and she was sure that he had been naked until she had called him to let her in.

She stood on her tip-toes and pressed her lips to his neck.  He tugged her inside, closed the door and Arya soon found herself divested of the clothes she had hoped would impress his mother.

“What if I just had lunch with your mother like this?” she asked. 

She was lying on her back, and he was tracing circles over her nipples—an act which sent delightful tremors down her body. 

“Well, I think she’d get pretty quickly the nature of our relationship,” he teased.

“What, that I sex you whenever I can?”

“Can you use sex as a transitive verb like that?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“As a linguist, I say that you can.”

“I think that's dubious, given that you could just be saying that to have your way.”

She sat up and twisted so that her breasts were in his face.  “I always have my way.”

He chuckled and tweaked her nipple.

Then he sighed and settled more firmly into his pillow, his hand drifting down to her waist.

“I love you, you know,” he said. 

“You’re just saying that because I sex you whenever I can.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Pretty sure that’s not why I’m saying it.”

He was very serious.  The look in his eyes scared her a bit, and she wasn’t entirely sure what to say.

You couldn’t just spring something like that on someone whenever you pleased.  And not when you had just had another quickie with them.  That just had to be poor timing.

He lifted his head slightly and kissed her.  It was a deeper kiss than any they had shared that day, and lazier as well.  And something else.  More loving?

When she dared, she broke the kiss.  “I should probably get dressed,” she muttered.  “Or else your mum won’t care if you love me.”

Gendry smiled. 

He watched her dress that same serious look in his eyes.  As she zipped up her hoodie, she heard the front door open.  She pecked Gendry on the cheek and, feeling distinctly as though she would probably spend the day escaping, slipped out his door.

“Hello?” she called.

“In the kitchen!” 

Arya learned quickly that Ann had the same laugh as Gendry, a deep laugh that bubbled out of her belly like she meant it.

They were sitting in a small restaurant three blocks from the flat.  It specialized in Dornish food and Ann was telling Arya all about Gendry when he was ten.

“Gods he used to get into fights.  At one point, I think he broke the nose of some snotty kid from the Upper Square and almost got himself kicked out of the school.  But thank goodness I was able to work something out with the headmaster.”

“Has he always had a lot of energy?”

“He had much more when he was younger.  I think he didn’t know how to channel it.  Then when he was fifteen, he began working at Greene’s Garage, just down the street from us.  I think he liked working with his hands, and he liked fixing things.  He calmed down a lot after that.  _A lot_.  Gods, he used to be wild.  I was nervous.  But he’s grown into a good man, I think.”

She smiled proudly, her face alight.

“Now,” Ann leaned forward, conspiratorially, “I want to know more about _you_.  This is supposed to be me interviewing you, after all.  Making sure you’re good enough for my precious baby boy and all that.”  Arya shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  Anne laughed.  “What on earth do you see in him?  He is a great big prat, after all.”

Arya snorted.  Then she shrugged.  “He makes me laugh and is a bigger idiot than me.  That’s good for my self-esteem.”

“Seems like a good reason to me.”

“Also he’s taller than me.  Sansa—my sister—says that you should always date someone taller than you.”

“Also a good reason.”

Ann’s eyes were suddenly wicked, just the way that Gendry’s sometimes were.  Arya wondered why for a moment. 

“Well,” said Ann, “you’re the only girl he’s ever dated where he asked me for dating advice.”

Arya cocked her head.  Gendry never talked about ex-girlfriends.  Arya assumed he had had them, especially because his kisses and touches were well practiced.  But imagining it and hearing about it were totally different things.

“You don’t need to look so frightened,” Ann was saying, “I think that’s a good thing.  Shows some thoughtfulness on his end.  Gods know the thoughtful ones are better for you.”

Arya thought of Joffrey when she nodded.

“Was his dad thoughtful?” she blurted out.  She kicked herself internally.  She shouldn’t be so tactless—not to people she was trying to impress.  Her mother had always told her that.  _Stupid!_ She thought.

Ann lifted an eyebrow for a fraction of a second, then replied, “Not really.  I think I did a good job raising Gendry not to be his father.  One need only look at Gendry’s refusal to drink alcohol after one—admittedly very traumatizing—bad turn.  As far as I’m aware, his father was a raging alcoholic till the very end.”

“He’s dead?” Arya asked slowly.

Ann took a deep breath, and nodded.

“He didn’t know how to love.  Gendry does though.  I made sure of that.”

Arya thought of his confession just an hour earlier and smiled.

Gendry did know how to love.  And he said he loved her.

She wondered if it was hard for him, to love.  Or, more specifically, to love her.  She couldn’t really imagine being easy to love.

She wondered if she would ever be in love with him.  She hoped so.

“Your face did about twelve emotions just there.  What did I say?”

Arya opened her mouth in surprise.

“What?  Not expecting me to notice?  I’m a mother.”

“My mother never notices.”

“Never notices or never remarks upon?  What did I say?”

Arya took a deep breath.  “Gendry…I think Gendry’s in love with me.  But I don’t know if I am in love with him.” Ann’s eyebrows raised.  “I don’t know if I know how to be in love,” Arya amended quickly.

Ann’s smile was gentle.  “You have never had a boyfriend before him, is that correct?”  Arya shook her head.  “Never had a crush on anyone?” Arya shook her head again.  “Then you’ll get there.  Gendry feels things very deeply.  It took him a while to figure out how to say what he meant, but once he did he got good at letting people know.  He knows that love takes a while to figure out.  Or he should, at least.  If I’ve raised him well, he does.

“If you don’t end up in love with him, that’s fine.  Just don’t lead him around.  He’ll understand that, even if he doesn’t like it.”

Arya cocked her head considering.  Then she said, “I wish my mother gave advice that easy to swallow.”

“By the sound of it, your mother has a lot of work between her children.”  Ann leaned back in her seat.  “I’m here for advice whenever you need it.  Though if it’s about breaking my son’s heart, I might find a way to destroy you.”  She winked.

Arya grinned.


	16. Sansa

**Starfall**

Sansa checked her wristwatch, then crossed to where Wylla was teaching a group of ten-year-olds how to foxtrot.

They were absolutely adorable, trying so hard to mimic Wylla’s grace without having any idea how to do it.  The girls stood in rapt attention, but when the boys thought Wylla wasn’t looking, they would point at her hair—as green as ever—and guffaw amongst themselves.

“I’m headed out.  Unless you need me,” she whispered to Wylla.

“Go meet your boy.”

Sansa rolled her eyes.  She’d made enough protests over the course of the past week, and none of her teammates seemed to accept that there was nothing even possibly confusable as “there” between her and Ned. 

The minute she had mentioned begging off the Starfall workshop early to get dinner with Ned Dayne, Tyene had shrieked with excitement, and half the Ballroom team was leaning over her computer as she drew up Ned’s face on the school directory.  There had been mass approval of his looks, though only Waymar had known him from some seminar they had been in together their first year.

When she stepped out into the sunny day, he was standing there in a windbreaker, his hair flying around his head.

“Is it always so windy here?” she asked approaching him.

He shrugged.  “You get used to it.  It’s the mountains, not the desert.  Though I hear the desert is pretty windy too.”  Suddenly he smiled.  “It’s good to see you.”

“And you.  I’m getting sick of the team.  But that’s what happens over tour, so I really should have expected it.”

He gestured her forward, down the hill and towards the center of town.  “Do you have much left?”

“This is our last stop.  I’m flying home to Winterfell for the next few days.”

“Just long enough to wash away the tan.”

“Exactly.  I must look pasty and northern at all time.”

“Poor soul.  There’s nothing in the world quite so nice as a good tan.”

She glanced sideways at him, and was about to say snarkily, “and all the skin cancer it brings” but changed her mind.  Ned was tanner and there was a lovely red in his cheeks from the wind.  Against his pale hair and dark eyes he looked almost like he was from a fairytale.  Sansa couldn’t knock that, as much as she was tempted to, so she changed tacts. 

“I suppose.  But it doesn’t look good with my hair.  Makes me look like a tomato.”

Ned laughed.  “I’d never thought of that.  Don’t know many Dornishmen with red hair.”

“A northern affliction,” sighed Sansa dramatically.

“That does explain the need for your pasty complexion though—even if you do look sick because you’re so pale.”

She rolled her eyes.

“You look like you could be skinned and turned into a leather bag.”

“Firstly, that’s a gross exaggeration of my tan, secondly, isn’t that something that Northmen do?  Skinning people and turning them into things?”

“Those are the Boltons.  According to legend, they turned the Starks into their cloaks whenever they could.”

Ned nodded, considering, then said, “They must be warm, these Stark cloaks.  I’ll have to look into one.”

“You’d overheat and die in the Dornish sun.”

“I suppose so… What are you in the mood to eat?  There’s an Asshai restaurant a block away that’s not half bad.  There’s some Yunkish cuisine, and a really rather stellar Dornish place.  But I imagine you’re sick of Dornish food at the moment.”

“I’ve never had Yunkish food.”

“I don’t recommend it.  I was being polite.”

Sansa snorted.  “Very well then.  Asshai?”

“Perfect.  This way.”

She hadn’t realized how tall he was before.  Not tall in the way that Gendry was (Gendry was fucking enormous) but just taller than her—maybe half a head?  He carried himself with the same catlike grace that Arya did.  She supposed it was a fencing thing.

He was walking very quickly.  She had to take nearly two steps for every one of his, his legs were so long.  She suddenly had a vision of him playing Frisbee again and wondered whether he had done other sports in his life, or if he, like Arya, had only ever fenced.  She was about to ask when he stepped suddenly to the left and into a restaurant that was covered completely in red.

They were ushered to a table before Sansa really had time to take into account the lacquered masks on the wall and the nasal quality of the music playing over the stereo.

“I hear that the team’s doing well in King’s Landing,” said Sansa when they sat down.

Ned’s smile was compressed, but he nodded.  “Arya’s probably going to win top points in Sabre.  Thorne’s over the moon about it.  Keeps sending me emails telling me that I’m not the star anymore.”

“Aww, poor Ned!  Not the star player anymore.”

Ned shrugged.  “I wish I were there.  It would have been fun.  But I suppose there’s always next year.”

Sansa nodded. 

“How are you liking Dorne?” he shifted so that he was leaning a little further towards her.

“It’s nice.  Very hot, which I can’t decide if I like or not.  And the food’s great.”

“But…” he prompted.

“But I burn!  My skin is dying.”

“You look nice and tanned to me.”

“That’s because today I woke up and found that my skin decided to turn brown.  Yesterday, I promise you, it was redder than my hair.”

Ned chuckled.  “That’s a funny mental image.”

“I really should have thought to bring a hat.”

“Dornishmen don’t wear hats.  We let the sun beat down upon us with its fiery vengeance.”

“And then you get skin cancer and die.  I’m not a Dornishwoman.  I am a Northwoman with little melanin and thus I should wear hats whenever I am south of the Neck.”

Ned was shaking his head.  “I’m sorry Sansa.  I don’t know if this is going to work between us.  I don’t think I can be friends with someone who wears hats in the sunshine.”

And they were both laughing and Sansa wasn’t even entirely sure why because the entire conversation was so ridiculous, but she couldn’t help herself.

When they had settled, she asked, “How is home?”

He looked at her, his dark eyes flitting back and forth between her own, his head tilted slightly to the left.

Then he sighed.

“It’s not easy.  It hasn’t been in a while though.”

She nodded.

“Does your aunt ever seem to do any better?”

He grimaced.  Sansa suddenly realized that they had never talked about Allyria.  “Arya told me,” she added quickly.  She hoped that she wasn’t being unfathomably rude the way she sensed she was, and she reached out her hand.  

She recognized the jolt that went straight to her heart when her skin touched his.  Her eyes wanted to widen in shock, but her control over her face was too good to let them

She squeezed his hand briefly, then pulled away. 

“I don’t really know what to do,” Ned said at last.  His eyes were bright and he was biting his lip.  “It’s…there isn’t really anything I _can_ do.  And there doesn’t seem to be anything she can do.”  He sighed.

“I was talking to mum last night.  I…well, she thought that…” Sansa paused.  He was watching her closely, and she suddenly felt embarrassed that she had brought up Ned’s aunt to her mother.  She took a deep breath and continued, “She said that sometimes people need to be allowed to grieve.  But also that it might help for her to go away.  Travel.  Spend some time with herself.”

Ned nodded.  Then he mumbled, “Thanks.  Thanks for you know…caring.”

“Anytime.”

“It’s nice to know that northerners aren’t frozen all the way through.”

Before she could sputter out an indignant response, the waiter had arrived to take their order.

Though their dinner was over two hours long, it seemed to pass in very little time at all.  Ned quickly yanked the conversation back to happier, more frivolous topics and Sansa was laughing harder than she had laughed in a very long time.

Before she knew it, he was walking her back to the hotel that the team was staying at and wishing her a good night, his head was tilted slightly again, and his grin in place once again.  There was something strange in his eyes—something that Sansa couldn’t quite identify, and wasn’t entirely sure that she wanted to.

When she turned and made her way into the hotel, she couldn’t help but whether he had felt something similar when their hands had met at dinner.


	17. Gendry

**King’s Landing**

The world had ended.

His mother wouldn’t...this couldn't be happening unless the world had ended.

He pressed the call button on his phone one more time, but it went straight to voicemail.  Arya was probably in the air, happily and obliviously on her way home.


	18. Edric

**Oldtown**

Arya strode into his room without knocking and collapsed into his desk chair.

She didn’t say anything.

There were dark circles under her eyes, and it looked like her hair had not been washed in several days.

“Hello to you too.  How was break?”  Ned did not know how tentative to be. 

Something was wrong.

Arya closed her eyes, exhaled, and said, “Gendry’s mother died.  She was hit by a car the day that I went home after the tournament.”

Ned’s breath escaped him in a hiss.

“Is he ok?” he asked after a moment.

Arya, eyes still closed, shook her head.

“That’s rough.”

Arya nodded.  Then she opened her eyes.

“Can I just sit here for a little while?  I need to be away.”

“Sure.”

She sat there unmoving for over an hour.  Sometimes her eyes were closed, sometimes they were open but she did not move.  She stared at the ceiling when her eyes were open and she looked blank.

Ned sat on his bed and opened his email.

_To: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_From: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: Arya_

_She’s in my room unwinding.  I thought I’d let you know in case she stays for a long time and you get worried._

Almost immediately, Sansa responded. 

_To: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_From: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: re: Arya_

_Thanks.  I was beginning to get nervous.  She’s not answering her phone.  Is she talking?_

_-_

_To: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_From: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: re(2): Arya_

_Not more than usual.  I mean, I know about Gendry’s mum.  But that’s it._

_-_

_To: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_From: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: re(3): Arya_

_Ok.  Mind if I come over?  I want to see if I can make her talk._

_-_

_To: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_From: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: re(4): Arya_

_I think she wants to be away from people right now._

_-_

_To: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_From: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: re(5): Arya_

_Can you ask her?_

Ned cleared his throat.  Arya’s eyes flickered towards him.

“Sansa wants to know if she can come over and talk to you.  She’s worried.”

Arya shook her head, and went back to looking at the ceiling.  As Ned began to type again, she said, “Can you let her know I’ll talk to her when I get home?  I just need to be blank right now.”

Ned conveyed this in his reply to Sansa.  Sansa did not respond. 

It almost made him frown.  He didn’t like it when Sansa didn’t respond.  She was usually so good at it, so quick, so heartfelt, so genuine.  She was one of the few people who he emailed whose voice rang clearly in his head when he read her messages.  He could see her smiles in her words, and feel her laughter when she typed.

There had been a moment, when he had dropped her off at her hotel in Starfall, when he had got it into his head that it might be a good idea to kiss her.

Luckily, the reasonable side of his brain had shot that idea down, saying that she would probably bolt—no matter how much she liked him.  And then of course, she had gone, and he had watched her hips sway across the hotel lobby before making his way back up to the castle and tried to get her grins out of his mind’s eye.

He had known that he had a small crush on Sansa before he had seen her.  But he had not realized that it would ever be a _thing_.  _Things_ were dangerous.  _Things_ were unpredictable.  And _things_ , at least so far as he had witnessed or experienced, tended to end either spectacularly or horribly.

He did not want to think about which way this _thing_ would end. 

He heard Arya’s phone buzz.  She glanced at the screen then began typing a response.  When she was done, she stood up.

“Thanks,” she mumbled and was out his door as easily as she had arrived.

_To: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_From: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: re(7): Arya_

_She just left.  Not sure where she went._

The minute he pressed send there was a knock on his door.

Sansa was standing there.  She too looked bedraggled.  Some of her hair was folded at odd angles across her scalp and she was wearing a ratty Winterfell sweatshirt that looked as though it belonged to someone about twice her size.

She still looked beautiful, despite drooping eyes and a slightly pallid complexion.

“She just left,” he said.  She slumped against the doorframe.  “Want to come in?  I can make you some tea.”

She glanced at him, then a small smile came to her lips.  “Tea?”

“Shut up.  I drink tea.  Coffee’s just better.”

“If you say so.”  She followed him into his room and sat in the desk chair that her sister had, until moments before, occupied.

“What happened?” he asked when he popped a mug of water into the microwave.

Sansa took a deep breath, then began talking.

“Gendry’s mother was hit by a car while he was taking Arya to the airport.  She died instantly.  From what I can gather, there was blood and guts and brain everywhere.  Gendry’s basically been silent ever since.  It really freaked Arya out while we were home.  They’d just sit there on the phone for hours, not talking.  She flew back down for the funeral this past weekend, and they took the train down together and basically since then she’s been bugging out.  She won’t talk to anyone and he won’t talk to anyone and it’s basically one big pile of not talking.  And it’s making me crazy.  And Jon crazy.  And I imagine Daemon, Aurane, and Roslin crazy too.”

Ned was nodding.  He didn’t really know what else to say.  The microwave began beeping and he busied himself bringing her teabags and the hot water.

“Arya’s really bad about talking about things.  I mean, she’s getting better.  But she doesn’t really know how to deal with deep emotional shit.”  Sansa took a sip of her tea.

“Well, she said she’d talk to you when she got home.”

“She hasn’t been home.  She’s spent every second with Gendry.  I don’t think she’s probably going to go to class tomorrow.  She’ll probably be with him.  Which isn’t bad, I mean, clearly he needs her.  But…”

“But you don’t see how it’s helping.”

Sansa shook her head.  She took another sip of tea, then ran her hands through her hair.  She froze.

“What?” he asked.

“I’m sorry I look like such a mess.  I wasn’t thinking.”

Ned began to laugh.

“It’s all right, you know.  You don’t have to look like a doll all the time.  This is proof you’re human.”

She blushed. 

Why did she have to blush?  He had been doing so well not wanting to kiss her until she blushed.

“All the same…I don’t know.  It’s hard to explain.  I’m not Arya.  I don’t just wander around in ratty clothes.”

“I know you’re not Arya.”  He hoped that he didn’t sound too serious saying that.

She rolled her eyes.  “Well, obviously.  I just meant…never mind.”  She took a sip of tea.  “I should probably go.  I have a lot to finish unpacking.  Thank you for the tea.”

“Anytime.”  He got up and opened the door for her.  “Sansa?”

“Yes?”

“If you ever need to talk about anything, you know you can talk to me, right?”

She stilled, her face completely unreadable and her eyes focused very much on what he assumed had to be his left cheekbone.  Then they met his, and the full force of sky blue hit him squarely in the gut.  She smiled and nodded.  “Thank you,” she murmured.

Gods.

He waved goodbye and when she was gone, he closed his door and slid down it to the floor.


	19. Arya

Gendry had grown a beard.

Or rather, he hadn’t shaved.

She had thought she wouldn’t like it, but the hair on his face was less wiry than that on his head.  When he kissed her, it felt positively soft against her face.  She couldn’t hate the beard.

She could hate that he still wasn’t talking.

It had been nearly a week since they had returned to Oldtown, and, though she spent most of her waking hours with Gendry, and though he seemed capable of dragging himself to work and to class, the minute he got back to the Bastard House, he would curl up in his bed like a little child and nothing she could say would make it better.

The one time that she had almost gone back to her own house, he had nearly cried.  And she couldn’t bear the concept of making him cry, so she curled herself around him and stayed.

Sansa wanted her to talk about it.

Her talking about it wasn’t the problem.

That Gendry felt he was alone in the world was the problem.  That Gendry thought the only thing left to himself was her was the problem.  Because she didn’t know how to be the only thing he had left.

Her parents were worried about her (Sansa had told them when she hadn’t been home for three days).  She knew that her father had emailed Gendry, but she didn’t know what about.  Gendry had mentioned it once when he had felt talkative (i.e. he felt like saying a single sentence).

Part of her wanted to scream at him—scream that he was still alive, and that his mother would hate to see him like this, and that he was only making it worse for himself.

But the part of her that wanted to hold him until he could forget everything won over.

It was a Friday afternoon, and she was lying on his bed.  He was there too, just staring at the ceiling.  He was holding her hand.

“All right.”

He did not respond.

“Up you get.”

He didn’t move.

“Gendry, get up.”

He said nothing.  Arya pulled her hand away from his and sat up.  She felt his eyes following her, and could almost taste his fear that she would leave in the air.  She picked up the pillow she had been lying on and stripped it of its pillowcase.  Then she pulled the pillow out from under Gendry’s head and stripped it too.  She dropped the pillows on the bed and threw the pillowcases across the room so they sat by the door.

“What are you doing?” he asked at last.

“I’m doing your laundry, since you can’t do it yourself and your room is starting to stink.  Get up so I can get your sheets.”

He sat up bewildered and watched her pull his bed apart, chucking linens across the room.  She grabbed some of his clothes which were lying on the floor and added them to the laundry pile.  Then, she loaded the laundry into her arms and pushed her way out the door.  She descended two floors to the basement and dropped the sheets unceremoniously into the washing machine. 

Then, she reached for the detergent on the shelf above the machine—or rather, she tried to.

“Stupid tall people,” she muttered, clambering onto the washing machine so she could reach it.  She heard footsteps on the stairs.  “Why do you keep your detergent so high up?” she demanded whoever it was.

“Because none of us are short like you.”

She almost fell off the washing machine.  Gendry was standing there, carrying the hamper from the bathroom.

He helped her down and then filled the machine up the rest of the way with the odd items of clothing.  

When it was running, he took a deep breath.

“Hi.”  He wasn’t looking at her.  He was looking at his feet.

“Hi.”

“Will you help me make the bed?”  His eyes drifted from his feet to her face.

“Duh.  I was planning to make it because I figured you’d still be all zombified.”

His smile was wry.  “Thanks.”

He led her back upstairs, and went into the bathroom to fetch fresh sheets.  Arya opened his bedroom window, letting the crisp March air in.

Gendry didn’t talk while they made the bed.  But his eyes looked alive at least, and Arya began to feel hopeful.  When they had chucked the newly-encased pillows, Gendry looked at her and said, “Sorry about being a zombie.”

She rounded the bed and gave him the biggest hug she could muster, wrapping her arms around his chest and squeezing as if letting go would mean losing him.

His arms were around her too, squeezing her so tightly that it almost hurt.

“Are you back now?” she asked, her faced muffled against his sweater.

“I think so.  I hope so.  I’m sorry, Arya.  I’m so sorry.”

“It’s…you don’t have to apologize…It was,” she looked up at him, trying to find the right way to say what she was thinking.  But when she pulled her face away from his chest he shifted and his lips were on hers.

It was a rawer kiss than usual, needier and more demanding.  But Arya met it with everything she had and poured every ounce of her being into Gendry.  His tongue was deep in her mouth, her hands were fisting in his hair.  She felt his heart beating wildly against her chest, and she had never been more glad of a sensation in her life.

Her hands dropped to his shoulders and she hopped up, wrapping her legs around his middle so that he could stand up straight and kiss her.  He made a _humph_ when she did, and his hands flew to her ass gripping it more tightly than usual. 

Her lips moved to his neck, and his to hers and she dropped a hand between them, pushing at the waistband of his sweatpants.  She found his cock and began stroking it.  He bit her neck.

And then she was flat on the bed and he was on top of her.  He was tugging at her jeans and they were soon gone from her legs.  He shoved her underpants aside and he was inside her, groaning her name into her neck.

 _This_ was what fucking was, half-clothed and desperate when you needed something to make you feel alive.

She hadn’t been fully ready for Gendry when he had entered her, but she didn’t care even the slightest that there was a slight tinge of pain to his thrusts.  His hips were moving so fast that she felt as though the mattress would have a dent in it in the shape of her body, and his kisses so forceful that he didn’t realize that he had bitten her tongue more than once.

But it was Gendry and she wrapped her legs around his waist to pull him closer to her and bucked her hips underneath him at the right times so that he would press deeper, his cock jamming up against her cervix in a way that sent delightfully painful tremors up to her clit. 

Then, suddenly, he wasn’t inside of her anymore.  He was fumbling at his bedside table for a condom, and his hands were trembling when he rolled it down his shaft.

Then he was back inside her, fucking her raw and moments later he grunted and collapsed on top of her, spent.

She clutched her to him, glad that he hadn’t pulled himself out just yet, kissing his shoulder and running her hands along his waistband over the curves of his ass.

She didn’t know how long they lay there like that.  The light coming through the window was different though when he spoke.

“Sorry.”

“You don’t have to say sorry.  That’s what we were talking about.”

“I meant about not making you cum.”

“Oh.  You can make it up to me later.”

“I will.”

She shivered and felt her muscles clench around his cock.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

“You’re welcome.  If you’re a zombie tomorrow though…”

“I think zombie Gendry is gone.”

“Good.  I like this Gendry better.”

He mumbled something into her shoulder, but she didn’t know what it was.

She just held onto him, never wanting to let him go.


	20. Sansa

It was four AM and Sansa was sitting alone in Chataya’s.  It had been a long while since she had been alone at this hour in the coffee shop, but ever since her prescription for sleep medication had run out over break, she had been trying to get along without it—despite what Dr. Hightower advised.  It had all been going rather well until then.  She’d slept eight hours a night for the past week, and her dreams were all very brightly colored and full of things that she imagined would not be out of place in an acid trip.

There had been no hint of Joff in her dreams, and every morning she woke up, not simply refreshed, but proud.

Then, she had come home from Ballroom last night, flying high on the endorphins that came from a good evening of dancing and she saw Meryn Trant on her way home.  He had glared at her.

She didn’t panic.  Which she was also proud of.  She picked up her phone and called Arya, who didn’t pick up.  Then she called Ned, who did.  She didn’t tell him why she was calling and he didn’t ask.  He just made her laugh her whole way home, and when she walked through the front door, she felt like nothing could hurt her, like nothing could hold her down. 

But then she couldn’t fall asleep.

At three thirty she had just given up, dressed herself for the day and made her way to Chataya’s, as she had for most of the last semester.

“You’re back!” smiled Alayaya.  “Chai tea?  Or Jade Dragon?”

“I’m feeling daring.  Let’s try a mocha.”

“Coffee?  What _has_ gotten into you?” teased the barista.

“I don’t know.  It’s been a crazy day.  Why not make it crazier.”

“I’m putting in caramel, just in case.”

Sansa smiled, made her way to the table she had spent so much time at last fall, and turned on her laptop.

_To: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_From: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: Big News._

_Am trying coffee.  I blame you if it ends poorly._

But she didn’t have anything to do, except start her Environmental History research paper and she’d be damned if she was going to do that.

Alayaya brought over her mocha and watched her as she tentatively took a sip.

“Do you need me to exchange it for a tea?” she teased.

It was not what Sansa had been expecting.  It was less bitter and more chocolatey and, as Ned had promised, caramel did make it better.  She took another sip.

On second thought, the bitterness was richer than she had thought, and not so acrid. 

“I think I’ll stick with it,” she said at last.

“Congratulations.  You are now a coffee drinker!”  Alayaya grinned, then strode back to the bar.

“What do you do at four in the morning when no one is here?”

“Homework, usually.  Or I troll the internet for things to send my boyfriend.”

She leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of coffee, wondering what she would do until seven, when she’d go home, take a shower, and pretend to have had a normal night’s sleep before going to see Dr. Hightower.

The door opened and Tyrion pushed his way into the shop.

He ordered a triple shot of espresso in his coffee, then glanced around.

“Sansa!  I thought part of this semester’s therapy included sleeping.”

She smiled.  “It does.  Too much on my mind though, so here I am.  It’s a one time thing,” she assured him.

He raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not me being stressed or panicked.  I just couldn’t sleep.”

He came over and sat down with her.  “I suspect you might be in denial.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh?  Are you sure?”

“It’s not got anything to do with Joff.  Well…I did see Meryn Trant on my way home last night, but that was different.”

“Did he talk to you?” Tyrion’s expression was very serious.  “They are all three of them to keep away from you or else the University is going to come down hard on them.”

“No.  He just…he just glared at me.  I was on the phone with a friend the whole way home, so I was safe.”

“Being on the phone doesn’t keep you safe on the streets at night, Sansa.”

“No, but Ned would have found me.”

Tyrion looked confused.  “Your father?  Is he in Oldtown?”

“No, no.  Ned Dayne.  He’s one of Arya’s friends from fencing, and I’m in my Environmental History class with him.”

Tyrion nodded slowly.  “All the same…”

Sansa smiled.  She had wondered last semester why Tyrion always pried into her business.  She hadn’t minded very much at the time, since it always seemed relevant—checking in with her to make sure that she was doing all right, that Joffrey hadn’t contacted her, that she knew he could be trustworthy.  But now, his prying reminded her very much of her mother and she found that she liked it.

“I know.  I am careful.”

“Just because they haven’t approached you doesn’t mean they might not still.  Joffrey and his brutes don’t forget anything.”  His tone was very dark and Sansa blurted out the question before her tired mind had thought it might not be a good idea.

“Has he been harassing you?”

He took a sip of his coffee, then placed the paper takeaway mug on the table.  “He’s been silent.  But what I learned of Joffrey when he was ten was that his silences are more dangerous than when he is loud—he’s actually thinking then, and if he thinks, even if he is an idiot when he is doing it, no good can come from it.

Sansa shivered.

“I’m not saying this to cause to you panic, nor am I saying it because something might happen, but so that you know.  You could very well be completely safe.  But you must tell me if you are ever nervous about anything.  Even if you think that it’s ultimately as pointless as my cousin Lancel’s attempts to give up everything for the Seven.”

She nodded slowly.  Then said, “And you must tell me.  You must warn me.”

Tyrion’s gaze was inscrutable.  But he nodded too.  Then stood, and bid her a good morning.


	21. Gendry

He threw himself into working at the garage.  He had been shirking a fair amount that semester, swapping shifts as much as possible so that he could have more time for Arya.  But his first week back in Oldtown, he remembered just how much he liked doing things with his hands.  There was something soothing about problem-solving, about using power tools, and, after a certain point, about getting out of the house.

He came home that afternoon covered in more grease than he had been in years and his shoulders feeling surprisingly sore thanks to a Stallion with a temperamental ignition. 

Jon woke with a start from his nap on the couch when Gendry closed the front door and locked it.

“Hullo,” he mumbled blearily.

“Sorry to wake you.”

“Serves me right, sleeping on the couch.  How was work?”

“Nice and distracting.”

Jon nodded.

“Arya was by earlier looking for you.  She’s at practice now.”

Gendry pulled his phone out of his pocket.  There was no text from Arya waiting for him, so he could only assume that whatever had brought her to the house hadn’t been urgent.

She was probably checking to make sure he was up and about.  She’d been doing that lately.  He’d successfully freaked her out with his whatever-it-was.  Ever since he’d come to, she’d made sure that he got out of the house every day, whether it was dragging him on walks or seeing that he hadn’t missed class.

It was remarkably sweet, and he had a shrewd suspicion that she didn’t realize it. 

“Aurane mentioned at breakfast that he has a girl for you again,” said Gendry, making his way towards the kitchen and grabbing a slice of the pie that Roslin had brought round during dinner the night before.  It was blueberry, and he hadn’t had any last night because his mother had always made blueberry pies.  But he decided he wanted a slice now.

Jon made a disgruntled noise.

“I had hoped he’d given up by now,” called Jon.

“Sounded pretty determined to get you laid.”

“If I wanted Aurane’s help getting laid, I’d talk to him,” sighed Jon.  He had come over to stand by the refrigerator.  “Could you slice me up some of that?”

Gendry placed a slice of pie onto a plate and handed it to Jon. 

Jon took a bite.  “Gods Roslin can bake.  I don’t know why Robb ever let her go.”

“From what I understand, Robb just fell in love with someone else.”

“Yeah, but how could you fall out of love with someone who makes blueberry pie like this?”

Gendry’s stomach lurched and he chose to shrug rather than respond.  He had said much the same thing once when he had learned that his father loved his mother’s blueberry pies.

“I swear, if I ever find a woman who can bake like this, I’d be a happy man.”

Gendry nodded in assent.  He wondered for a moment if Arya baked.  But the image of her in a kitchen made him start laughing.

“Arya doesn’t cook,” affirmed Jon, knowing precisely what had gone on in Gendry’s head.  “You shouldn’t let her near yeast.  She’ll cover your kitchen in dough.  There’s a rule at home that Arya must be accompanied by an adult in the kitchen at all times.  I don’t think it changed when she came of age.”

“Good thing I cook then.”

“Yep.”  Jon glanced at him over his pie.  “You treating her well?  You seem to be getting along fine.”  Jon’s tone darkened.  “I certainly hear more than I would like coming out of your bedroom.”

Gendry’s eyebrows shot up and he felt his jaw drop slightly.

“That’s what I thought,” grinned Jon.  “I just didn’t have the opportunity to ask earlier this semester, and Robb told me that I needed to do the big-brother-thing since he’s not here for it.”

Gendry had gotten plenty of Robb’s big-brother-thing in King’s Landing.  Robb had taken him out for beers and then detailed the precise ways in which his irritable greyhound Grey Wind would rip him apart if he did anything that might hurt Arya.  He tried to compress the jolt of pain that came from the memory of describing this conversation to his mother.  He was moderately satisfied with the results.

In any case, Gendry much preferred Jon’s tactic. 

“To answer your question,” Gendry replied at last, “I think I’d probably still be losing it and hermiting away without Arya, so I treat her pretty well because she’s brought me back to being a somewhat a normal person.”

Jon’s face smoothed, and he nodded.

He took a deep breath, then paused, then spoke.

“If you didn’t snap out of it, I was going to talk to you.  I…I lost someone suddenly a few years back.  And it’s rough, and you never really get over it.”

“Who?” asked Gendry before he could stop himself.

“A girl I dated in undergrad.  Ygritte.  She was…excellent.  Unlike anything I’ve ever encountered.  She liked to do rock climbing in the reserve and fell one day.”

Gendry inhaled sharply.  He realized in that moment that he’d never heard Jon talk about his life during undergrad.  He talked about some friends—Sam, for example, and Gilly—or he talked about classes, but never anything else. 

This had to be why.

Jon looked lost in memory as he continued, his grey eyes pained.  “They found her three days later, frozen solid.  She’d died the second she hit the ground—broken neck.”

“I’m sorry,” mumbled Gendry at last.

Jon shook himself.  “Thanks.”

“Is she why you don’t date?”

Jon cocked his head, considering.  “Yes.  But not because she died and I miss her too much to date anyone ever.  I just haven’t found anyone anywhere near as spectacular as her.”


	22. Edric

_To: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_From: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: Re(12): Big News._

_If you like.  But it’s not my fault if you lose all feeling in your legs because of stupid dancing shoes.  I did warn you._

_I am late to section, and I blame you thoroughly.  If you’ve made me forget all of the things that Arya told me before class today, you will have to think of something_ really _good to make up for it._

He tucked away his phone and hurried into the classroom.

“Thanks for joining us, Ned.”  There was a steely edge to Tansy Rivers’ smile and he knew that he was in trouble.

“Sorry,” he lied, “meeting ran late.”

“Well, we’ve broken down into groups.  But Joffrey doesn’t have a partner.  You two should work together.”

_Oh hells._

Ned grunted in acknowledgement and sat next down away from his usual seat, next to the man who had broken Sansa.

Fucking incompetent TA.  He was tempted to text Arya, but decided against it.  Joffrey would see, and he didn’t know if Joffrey knew that he was close to the Stark girls.  He didn’t want to find out.

They didn’t talk to each other while they worked their way through the problem.  Theirs was the only pairing not deep in conversation.  Ned was focused as much as possible on what Arya had said about Subject-Verb-Object ordering in Valyrian languages, but it was lost behind memories of studying with Sansa last weekend.

They had gone to Chataya’s to review for another test in Environmental History, and he had made her try another kind of coffee.  She had winced when she tasted it, and it had been so unbelievably adorable that he almost laughed at the memory.

He had it bad.

“How’s it going?”  Tansy was standing above them. 

“Fine,” mumbled Ned.  Joffrey nodded in curt agreement.

“You two don’t seem to be working together much,” she commented.  “Come on.  It’s a group exercise.  Work with each other.”

And she was gone.  Ned’s eyes followed her across the room.  He saw a group of first year girls staring at him and Joffrey.  One of them flushed when he made eye contact and giggled to her friend.  Ned did his best not to roll his eyes. 

He wondered if they were even aware of what Joffrey was.

Joffrey was watching him when he brought his attention back to their problem set.

“So, Modern Norvoshi,” Ned sighed.

“Are you fucking her?”

Ned froze.  “What?”

“Are you fucking Sansa Stark?  I’ve seen you around campus together.”

Ned hoped that the glare he shot Joffrey captured every ounce of hatred and disgust.

“Modern Norvoshi places objects before the verb, so—”

“Meryn Trant thinks you are.  But he’s an idiot.  I know her better than that.  She wouldn’t fuck you so quickly.  It took me over a year before I got that little ice queen.  Then she turned right slutty enough.”

Ned stiffened.

Of course, he knew that Sansa and Joffrey had had sex.  Everyone knew that.  But the look in Joffrey’s eyes, the cold tone in his voice, the sneer playing at his lips brought images to Ned’s mind that he wished severely weren’t there.

“Although, I suppose that after she gave it up, she realized there was no good in holding out for anyone anymore.  Maybe she just threw herself at you.”

Ned wanted to look away.  Wanted to get up and leave the room.  Wanted to go back to focusing on Norvoshi word placement.  Wanted to slam Joffrey’s head against the table.

Instead, he said, hoping that this would end the conversation, “We’re just friends.”  He tried to sound as final as possible.  But watching Joffrey’s lips curl back he realized that he had said precisely the wrong thing.

“Just friends?” sneered Joffrey.  “That’s funny.”

Ned didn’t reply.

“That’s funny because,” Joffrey continued, “it’s very clearly not true.  I see the way you look at her.  You want in to her tight cunt, don’t you?”

Ned was very proud of himself for not doing a single thing.  If he so much as moved the pencil in his hand, he was pretty sure it would have ended up buried in Joffrey’s throat.

“I bet you think of her when you’re polishing off at night, don’t you?  You wish she was right there with you, writhing away underneath you.  Or maybe wrapping her soft lips over your cock while you fuck her throat.”

The image of Sansa doing that to Joffrey almost made him sick.  Not because of jealousy—no.  Because the image had tears running down Sansa’s face, and Joffrey’s hand holding her head there.

The pencil in Ned’s hand snapped in half.

Joffrey chuckled softly.

“Everything going all right here?”  Tansy Rivers was back.

“Just fine,” said Joffrey, his voice smooth.  “Just a little heated conversation about Norvoshi syntax.  Dayne here forgot that the object comes before the verb, so we had to backtrack some.”

“We spent half of lecture on that today, Ned.”  Tansy sounded stern.

_Fucking useless.  Can’t she see what’s happening?_

No.  No she couldn’t.  Joffrey could say or do anything and she would eat it right up.  They would all eat it right up.  That’s how he had gotten back here, wasn’t it?  He’d sweettalked his way back, or convinced them all that it would never happen again—assault and battery and breaking Sansa.

“Got it confused with Pentoshi.  But we’re back on track now.  Provided that Baratheon remembers proper syntax tree structure.”

It was a childish dig, he knew that.  Tansy’s blue eyes were narrowed when she turned and walked away.

Joffrey’s smile turned ugly. 

“Well, you know what?”

Joffrey clearly wanted Ned to ask what, but Ned had no desire to do so.  He sat there, staring at Joffrey with as much hate as he’d ever felt in his life.

Joffrey decided he didn’t need Ned to ask.  “She isn’t yours.  And if you think she ever will be, remember this: there’s nothing you can do that I haven’t already done to her.”

 _Except love her_ , thought Ned vehemently.  He was suddenly aware of the truth of this statement and his breath caught in his throat.  _Holy fuck, do I love her?_   His heart had stopped.  This was _much_ worse than it only being a _thing_.

Joffrey was still talking.  “There’s nothing you can say that will stop her coming when I call for her.  And you know I will.  And even if she doesn’t want to, she’ll come to me.”

Tansy was calling them back to class discussion, and he hoped to all the Gods that that would be the end of it.

But when she released the class, Joffrey whispered in his ear, “What do you think will happen if I text her right now?  I bet I could have her at my flat in ten minutes.”

And Ned caved.

“If you texted her right now, you’d be in deep shit.”

“Oh?  What are you going to do about it?”

“I will destroy you.”

Joffrey raised his eyebrows.  Ned made his way to the door, but Joffrey followed him.

“And how do you plan on doing that?”

“That’s not your immediate concern.”

“And what is?”

“If you’re worried about me, you’re worried about the wrong person.”  They had reached the outside and Joffrey had stopped.  Usually after section, Joffrey would go towards Downtown Oldtown and Ned would head to the gym and practice.  Pod was standing there, waiting for him as per usual.

“Oh?”

“You’ve never met Arya.  And I’m sure she’d be more than happy to introduce herself.”

He turned on his heel.  If he stayed for another second, said one more word to him, he knew that he would end up kicking the shit out of him, and there was some very small, very insistent part of his brain telling him that that was the wrong way to handle it, that he didn’t have the same connections that Joffrey did and if he was charged with assault (which he was sure as hell Joffrey would see to if things came to blows), he wouldn’t be able to wash it away—ever.

He was already halfway across the quad when Pod caught up to him.

“What the fuck was that?” he demanded.

“Leave it.”

“What was it?  What did he say?”

“It’s nothing.  Don’t worry about it.”

“Is the team going to have to go out and defend Sansa’s honor?”

“No.  It won’t be a problem.”

“It didn’t look that way.”

They were at a crosswalk and Ned turned and glared at Pod as cars rushed past.  He didn’t say anything. 

“You look like you need to hit something.  Will that make you feel better?”

“Probably.”

“Dacey’s going to be put through her paces tonight.”

Ned let out a bark of laughter.  But there was nothing funny.  Nothing at all.


	23. Arya

**April**

When the digital clock on Gendry’s bedside table read four AM, Arya knew it was time to give up on sleep.  She sighed and extracted herself gently from the curve of Gendry’s arms.  He made a soft noise somewhere in the base of his throat, but did not wake.

She hunted around his room in the dark for her scattered clothes, but when her shirt remained decidedly hidden (she had thought that Gendry had chucked it towards the desk, but she supposed she was wrong), she pulled open Gendry’s sweater drawer and pulled out one of his thick woolen sweaters.

When she turned back to look at him her breath hitched slightly. 

She’d never seen him like this before, stretched out asleep.  His arms had clearly just been around her, but his legs seemed to take up half the bed.  The blankets were entwined around them, and the moonlight made his naked chest glow, creating little darkened valleys in between the ripples of his muscles.

She hadn’t just looked at him in months—not since she was able to change her vantage point to one closer than across the backyards with binoculars.

He was thinner now than he had been then—probably because he was still recovering from not having eaten properly last month.  She quite liked his beard, especially when he trimmed it close to his face.  It did make him look older, though, more like a man and less like a graduate student.  But it also made his blue eyes even brighter in some inexplicable way.

Grabbing her laptop and carefully avoiding a creaky floorboard, she slipped out the door, shutting it quietly.

The house was completely silent.  There was a light on under Daemon’s door, and she imagined he was working on chemistry.

She climbed down the stairs and settled herself on the couch that Jon so often slept on. 

Ghost padded over to her and hopped up next to her, laying his head over her feet.  She wiggled her toes in his shag then opened her computer.

She glanced at her emails, not responding to any of them and noticed something that was never the case.

Her father was logged into his chat.

He was _never_ logged into his chat at the same time as her.  She knew that Sansa talked to him loads that way—especially last semester when she had kept such odd hours.  But Arya was never awake at four AM when her father was.

She clicked his name and typed, _you there?_

Almost instantly, he was calling her.  Seeing his face on her computer screen brought a huge smile to her face.

“Hello there, pipsqueak.  Are you all right?  You’re never up at this hour.”

“Can’t sleep,” she shrugged, “that happens to everyone at some point.  Do you really wake up at four every morning?”

“Only on Thursdays.  And at three thirty.”

“Still seems awful.”

He nodded.  Then yawned.  Arya yawned too.

“You dodged the question.  Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“How’s Gendry?”

“He’s…he’s getting ok.  He’s still sad a lot.”

“Understandable.”

“Yeah.  But he laughs too sometimes, and doesn’t look all guilty when he realizes he’s laughing.   He’s been growing out a beard.  I kind of like it.”

“He needs to shave it.”  She was surprised at her father’s vehemence.

“Why?”

“He just does.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“He can’t have a beard.  Beards are bad decisions.”

“You have a beard.”

“I’m older and wiser.  He’s young.  He has all the time in the world to grow a beard.”

“Why are you so determined about this?”  Arya found herself guffawing.

“I just am.  You shouldn’t date guys with beards.”

“Wait, is this about guys in general or just Gendry?”

“Well, Gendry, but also guys in general.”

“Robb’s growing a beard.  I saw it in King’s Landing.  Does that mean Jeyne shouldn’t date him?”

After a moment’s consideration, dad said, “He should also shave the beard.”

“You had to consider it.  It’s a Gendry thing.  Why don’t you want Gendry to have a beard?  It makes his eyes look really nice.”  Her father winced.  “What was that about?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice down.

He sighed.  “I’ll tell you at some point.  Just not yet.  Get him to shave the beard.”

“He likes it, and is in a fragile state of mind.  I’ll let him keep it for now.  But if you come, I’ll pester him about it.  Deal?”

“Fine,” grumbled her father.  “I just never want to see it, ok?”

“How’re Bran and Rick?”

“Bran’s fine.  He’s gotten into writing poetry lately—”

“Seven hells.”

Arya was shaking her head.  The concept of Bran writing poetry was almost too much for her.  Sure, he was thoughtful and calm and all that, but _poetry?_   She was going to have to have a serious talk with him.

“He enjoys it.  He’s got an interesting perspective on things.  He won a prize last week for one he wrote about Weirwoods in winter.  I’m surprised he didn’t send it to you.”

“Probably because he knew I’d never stop making fun of him for it.”

“I suppose.  Anyway, he won a prize, we’re very proud.  And Rick…he’s footballing.  A lot.”

“That’s good.”

“He’s more wild than he used to be.”

“That was always going to happen.”

“He almost bit someone’s ear off on Saturday and got suspended.”

Arya howled with laughter, then slapped her hand over her mouth.  Ghost lifted his head, and she listened carefully to the house to make sure that she hadn’t accidentally woken anyone.

“It’s not funny.  He’s in serious trouble,” grumbled dad.

“He almost bit someone’s ear off!  That’s hilarious!”

Her father rolled his eyes. 

“I should go,” he said at last.  “I should already be at the office.  I never get to talk to you though.”

“I miss you,” she murmured.

“We should talk this weekend sometime.  I want to hear more about Gendry, so long as I hear no mention of a beard.”

Arya rolled her eyes again.

“I look forward to it.  Bye!”

And Ned Stark’s face vanished from the screen.  She sighed.

“He doesn’t like my beard?”

She whipped her head around.  Gendry was standing on the staircase, still shirtless and a pair of dark sweatpants hanging off his hips.

“I don’t know.  He’s strange.”

He crossed the room in two steps and planted a kiss on the top of her head.  “Did I wake you?” she asked.

“I heard you laughing and came down to investigate.  Come to bed,” he murmured into her head.

“I can’t sleep.”

“I wasn’t suggesting we sleep.”

Arya closed her computer, patted Ghost’s head, and followed him back upstairs.


	24. Sansa

“Please shoot me now.”

“I wouldn’t do that, you look stunning.”

Roslin was standing in the doorway of her bedroom, dressed in a hyacinth dress.  It was really her color.  Her hair was falling in unbound braids down her back.

“Thanks.”

“It’ll be fine.  You’ll be fine.  Uncle Edmure will be fine.  And when it’s all over, it will have happened and that will be that.”

“All of that is dependent on our survival through the evening.  I half expect dad to have planned an ambush or something.”

Sansa laughed gently and reached her hands out for Roslin’s and squeezed them.

“Think about it this way.  Uncle Edmure has met your dad before.  They’re on the city council together.”

“Yes, but dad doesn’t actually _like_ him.”

“So that means that he’ll either be better than usual or exactly what he usually is.”

Roslin whimpered.  “I suppose.  Gods, I just wish I could put this off forever.  Why does ‘meeting the family’ have to be a stage in a relationship?”

Sansa shrugged.  “I don’t know.  It just is.  It means more to some people than others.  I mean, you’ve already met Uncle Edmure’s family—”

“I live with you.”

“I meant mum.”

“I live with you,” repeated Roslin.

“So, don’t let it get to you.  Dinner with your family is not stressful.  Because if Edmure doesn’t get along with your family, you already know that his likes you and you can focus on us.”  Sansa gave Roslin what she hoped was a winning smile.

“Hi!” hollared Arya, the front door slamming shut.

“She lives!” called Roslin.

“Yeah, yeah.”  They heard Arya coming up the stairs.  “Ooh!  You look nice, Roslin.”

“Dinner with Edmure and my family tonight.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Thanks.  How’s Gendry?”

Arya ran her hands through her hair.  “He’s ok.  Better every day, but still pretty rough.  I mean…his mum died.”

“Does he need things cooked for him?” asked Sansa.

“I think he’s got that covered.  I just think he needs company.”

“I’ll bet he does,” said Roslin.

“Was that supposed to be suggestive?  Because I’m not sure that’s appropriate,” accused Sansa.

“It wasn’t!”

“Well,” Arya rode over Roslin’s protests, “that’s the kind of company I’ve been giving him to some extent, so…I suppose it is?”  Arya crossed and settled on the bed next to Sansa.  “Why is Ned emailing you?”

Sansa slammed her laptop shut.

Roslin’s eyebrows shot up.  “Are you holding out on us?”  Her voice was positively sing-song-y.

Sansa’s face was as calm as possible, but she knew that she was blushing.

“Ned?  Really?” demanded Arya.

“Is there a problem with it?” asked Roslin.

“No…it’s just Ned.  I dunno.  He’s kind of…Ned.”

Sansa rolled her eyes.  “Very eloquent, Arya.”

“I don’t know.  He’s just…Ned.”

“We got that,” Sansa deadpanned.

“Not all of us want strapping grad students, Arya.  Maybe Ned is just what Sansa needs.”  Roslin winked, a grin firmly in place.

Sansa felt her blush deepening.  “I doubt he wants to,” she said at last.  “I just enjoy talking to him.  We’ll leave it at that.”

“You shouldn’t leave it at that,” suggested Roslin.

“I’m not going to throw myself at him.  I’m not desperate.  I’m also…not wholly sure I’m ready to date anyone.  So whatever it is, it’s fine.”

“Sure.  I must away.  Wish me luck.”  Roslin’s eyes widened significantly.

“Good luck!”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Let us know if you need a dramatic rescue!”

And Roslin was gone.

Arya was running her fingers over Sansa’s coverlet.

“What?” Sansa asked at last.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.”

“It’s just…Ned.”

Sansa was sorely tempted to pick up her computer and whack Arya across the face with it.  But the computer would probably break and she’d lose most of her research.  Maybe she should back it up?

“Do you disapprove?”

“No.  No it’s good.  I think he’d be great to you, actually.  It’s just…”

“Ned.”

“Yep.”

“Well, it’s not likely to happen, is it?”

“What makes you say that?  I bet he’d go for it if he thought you were interested.  Do you really think you aren’t ready for a relationship?”

Sansa sighed.  Arya raised a hand defensively.  “I just meant—you seem to be doing much better.  It might be worth a shot.”

She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes.  She imagined Ned sitting on the bed with her, talking and laughing.  She imagined his hand in hers, or maybe his arm thrown over her shoulder, their legs grazing against each other.

She imagined his lips on hers, his tongue teasing the inside of her mouth, a softly gutteral Ned noise in his throat.

Then she imagined his hand moving some place she wasn’t ready for and her back stiffening, her pulse out of control and her skin growing clammy with cold sweat.  Joffrey’s voice in her ears, his belt against her back, his fingers bruising her upper arm—not letting go as she pulled away.

She imagined the look of confused hurt in blue-violet eyes when she tore away and sprinted into the bathroom to retch.  She imagined trembling and not letting him near her.  She imagined slowly growing apart because it hurt too much that she couldn’t let herself really love him.

“I’ll hurt him.  I’ll hurt me.”  She felt the tears in her voice.

“That sounds like an excuse to me.”  The gentleness in Arya’s voice surprised her.  She glanced at Arya.

Gendry had aged her little sister, she could see it in those grey eyes and the serious expression on the long thin face.  Or maybe she had done that.  She wasn’t sure.

She sighed.  “I just don’t think I’m worth the trouble he’d be putting himself in.  I’m better, it’s true, but I am still a mess.”

“Sansa Stark,” said Arya sternly, sounding surprisingly like their mother, “That sounds remarkably like putting yourself down.  You’re definitely not more trouble than you’re worth.”

Sansa exhaled.  “Just because you say that doesn’t make it true.”

“Yes it does.  I’m a paragon of truth.  Besides, you can’t just assume you know what Ned thinks.  He’s remarkably noble about this kind of shit.”

“Perhaps not.  But I’m also not going to assume that he’ll think that.”

Arya shook her head and sighed.

They sat there in silence for a while, Arya sometimes shooting text messages over to Gendry.  Sansa dozed off and when she awoke, Arya was gone.

She pulled her laptop towards her and pulled up the email that Arya had noticed.

_To: sansa.stark@oldtown.uni_

_From: edric.dayne@oldtown.uni_

_Subject: Re(22): Big News._

_You’re just plain wrong._

_Shall make you try Dornish Hot Sauce.  You’ll eat your words.  And the hot sauce._

_Yours in Dornish Defiance,_

_Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall, Connoisseur of All Things Hot._

She laughed, and wished.


	25. Arya

“Arya, just stop it.  You’re going to burn the house down.  And I don’t want to have to deal with the fallout of that.” 

“I’m fine.  To your corner, good sir.”

“Don’t make me make you.”

“Pshh, like you would.”

“That’s it.”  And Jon’s hands were forcefully around her middle dragging her away from the stove.

“Hey!  Stop that!”

“Gendry, grab the pan.  Now.”  Gendry took over stirring the stir-fry.

“Traitor,” growled Arya through gritted teeth.

“It’s a bitch finding housing at this time of year, I’d imagine.  And besides, we’d probably get blacklisted for burning down one of Frey’s houses.”

“Traitor,” she repeated.

“I’m adding chili peppers to this.  Speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Arya lifted herself onto the counter and sat, watching as Gendry and Jon cooked.

It was stupid that they weren’t letting her cook.  She was perfectly fine at cooking.  She cooked all the time at her house.  Honestly, one incident with baking when you were eight and shouldn’t be allowed in a kitchen anyway…

Talk about blacklisting.

“Can you not sit on the counter?  I need to get at the knives.”  Jon was back in front of her.  She had a strong desire to stick her tongue up at him and say something about where he could get his knives…but she didn’t quite have the line and it seemed a little petty.  So she slid off the counter and went and stood behind Gendry, sliding her arms around his waist and sticking her hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Oy.  None of that while I’m around,” commanded Jon.

“None of what?”

“The fondling.”

“This isn’t fondling.”

“Robb would think it is.”

“Robb’s stupid, and also not here.  Do you report to him or something?”

“No, but I don’t lie to him either.”

“So when he asks you if you hear me having sex in the next room over, you tell him?”

“He doesn’t ask that question.”

“That’s lucky.  _When_ he asks that question, how will you respond?”

Jon didn’t answer.

“I think this is ready,” interrupted Gendry.  “Fetch your bowls, children.”

“We aren’t children,” pouted Arya, handing him one for himself.

Gendry rolled his eyes.  “Well, you are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.”

“I think the fact that we are literally having an ‘am-not-are-too’ conversation means that you are, in fact, a child.”

“You’re right there with me, bubba.”

“You keep telling yourself that.”  But his smile was gentle as he walked away from the stove and settled himself at the bar.

“Arya, shut up and eat your stir fry,” grinned Jon.

She stuck her tongue out at him this time.

“Child,” muttered Gendry under his breath.

“Are you here this summer?  I keep forgetting to ask you,” said Jon, blowing on some fried peppers.

“I suppose.  I was going to be home, but…” Gendry’s eyes were far away for a moment, and Arya dropped her fork and placed her hand on his knee.  He glanced at her, and there was a sad gratefulness in his eyes that made her want to hold him as tightly as she could.

But she sat still and just rubbed her thumb up and down. 

“So, I don’t really know.  I might help my advisor with a research project, I might do some travelling, might just stay here and work at Mott’s.  We’ll see.”

Jon was nodding.  “Have you ever been to the Reserve up north?”

“Nah.  I’ve only seen pictures.”

“You should go.  It’s beautiful and in summer you might manage not to freeze your balls off.  Though…” Jon cocked his head to the side, “that would have its benefits.”

“Watch yourself, Jon Snow,” commanded Arya.  Jon grinned.  Gendry snorted.

“Are you saying you wouldn’t love him if his balls froze off?” teased Jon.

“Watch yourself, Jon Snow,” said Gendry.

Jon laughed.

“We’d be creative.  Against your wall,” said Arya.

Jon shrugged, trying not to look disturbed at the prospect of it.

“I’ll think about it,” said Gendry, “I’ve never been north of White Harbor before.  Could be cool to see the Reserve.”

“There’s some pretty excellent summer trails north of Shadow Tower.”

“Shall bear it in mind.  What about you.  Home?  Here?  Elsewhere?”

“Valyria.  Looking at some plate tectonic stuff with Rosby.”

“I didn’t know that,” said Arya.  “I thought you were home this summer.”

Jon shook his head.  “Got a grant last week.  Should be fun.  If unbelievably hot.”

“I thought Valyria was still in trouble because of the nuclear stuff,” said Gendry.

“Nah.  I mean, it is.  But not the part we’re going to.  That’s more to the south.  I suppose _technically_ we’re going to the Lands of the Long Summer, but it’s right on the coast of the Smoking Sea, so…I don’t know the geography well.  Should probably look at a map before I go.”

“And grow a brain,” grumbled Arya.

“I suppose if I go to the place where there was the meltdown, then I just might grow another one,” grinned Jon. 

The front door burst open.  “Don’t mind us,” called Aurane.  “We aren’t here.”

Arya heard the voices of two girls giggling and saw the three of them climb the stairs to Aurane’s room.

“How often does that happen?” she asked Gendry, raising an eyebrow.

“I bought new earplugs, if anyone wants them,” called Daemon from his chemistry room.

“Are we really going to need earplugs?” asked Arya.

“For Aurane—yes.”

Jon stretched, yawned, and put his bowl in the sink.  “Off to work with me.  Good gods, I will be glad of a break.  Guarding a wall is just stupid sometimes.”

“Have fun,” grinned Arya as he trotted out the door.

She reached out a hand to Gendry.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asked him quietly.

“I need to work on my master’s thesis.  I’m super behind at the moment.  Because of…well…” she nodded.

“Do you want me to stay here, or go?  I don’t want to distract you.”

A wry smile crossed his face.  “Well, if you go home, I can look out my window to yours and see you and that will distract me.  But if you stay here, I bet you anything I won’t get anything done.”

“I’ll go to Ned’s to study.  He’s probably drowning in Linguistics at the moment.”

Gendry nodded.

Then there was a banging from upstairs.  Arya started.  Then a loud groan, and someone calling something indistinct.

Arya’s eyebrows shot up.

“Old house, thin walls,” sighed Gendry.  She heard a different moan, a higher pitched one, and someone calling “just like that, yes!”

“Are we like that?” she asked.

“Why do you think I have the earplugs?” called Daemon.

Arya felt her face turn bright red.  Gendry chuckled. 

“Get out of here,” he grinned, “before we give them some competition. 

“I’m sure he would welcome it,” then Daemon's tone darkened, "Even if I would not."

She put her bowl in the sink, pecked Gendry on the cheek, and slipped out the back door.


	26. Gendry

Gendry found it highly amusing how few people recognized him now that he had a beard.  Former students, former classmates, even some former professors, all of their eyes moved past him as though he were just any old student on campus.

It was oddly freeing, especially on days like today, days when he remembered a little too well the sound of his mother’s laugh.

She’d been dead for over a month now.  Time seemed to have moved so fast.  And, what made him feel the worst about it was how easy it was to forget.

As much as he had loved his mother, he had been terrible at keeping in touch with her while he was in Oldtown.  His pattern, his habit, rarely incorporated calling her, or shooting her an email and, after his initial horror, his initial pain, it was easy for him to act as he had once.  Easy to convince himself that she was still in King’s Landing, working at her bar. 

Only sudden shocks would make him remember—someone who had the same stride as his mother, or the same color hair.  And whenever those sudden shocks happened, he did two things.

The first was text Arya—who would respond as quickly as she could.  The second was sit on a bench outside, peoplewatch until he felt calm again, and remind himself how proud he was that he quit smoking when he was a second year undergraduate.

_Arya Stark: I have fencing.  Will you be home after, or still around campus?  I’ll find you after._

_Gendry Waters: I’ll let you know if I leave.  I’m sitting on the main quad right now._

He watched the sunset.  He liked that the days were noticeably longer now.

“I don’t know what she sees in you.  But then again, I suppose she’ll fuck anyone at this point, the little slut.”

“Oh really.  She hasn’t fucked you.” 

Gendry glanced up.  He recognized Ned Dayne’s voice, but had never heard the younger man sound so angry.  Indeed, from what he’d been able to gather from Arya and even from Sansa, it would take something of pure evil to raise his temper.

Ned stood face to face with another boy whose face Gendry couldn’t quite see.  They were nearly the same height, though Ned was slightly thinner and slightly taller.  Both had blonde hair, and from what Gendry could see from the other boy’s posture, their muscles were both tensed, as though they were about to try and beat the crap out of one another.

“Oh, but she has.  And she will again.  You think she won’t?” 

Gendry recognized that voice from the election campaign a few years ago.  He was talking to Joffrey Baratheon.

That explained it.

“She has?  Lately?  After you kicked the shit out of her?”

“I never kicked the shit out of her.”

“That’s avoiding the question.”

“No.  Not since.  But she will.  I’ll make her.”

“Make her?”

“Oh yes.”

Gendry watched as Ned Dayne whirled around.  They were about ten feet away from him and he was quite convinced that neither of them had noticed him.

“What do you mean, make her?”

Joffrey sneered.  “What do you think I mean?  I’m going to make her come back to me, and then I’ll fuck her again.  Hard too.  She’ll scream.”

“I’m pretty sure,” Ned took a step towards Joffrey, “that she doesn’t want anything to do with you.  I’m _pretty sure_ , actually, that there’s nothing you can do to make her go back to you.  Short of physical abuse, which will get your ass out of here so fast—” Joffrey’s fist flew towards Ned’s face, and Ned caught it casually.  “Also, I’m a fencer.  You think I don’t know how to tell when you’re going to move your arm?  Honestly.”  Gendry saw Joffrey’s eyes widen, and he was pretty sure that Ned’s grip had tightened.

“I’ll make her come back to me.  I’ll make her _beg_ to come back to me.  You wait and see.  And if she doesn’t she’ll regret it.  I’ll make her regret it.”

“How, stripping her down and beating her again?”

“Worse.”  Joffrey’s voice was black, and Gendry was on his feet without realizing it.

To his surprise, Ned chuckled.  He froze. 

Joffrey’s eyes narrowed.  “What?” he demanded.

“Well, my aunt liked to complain about smartphones when they first came onto the market.  She didn’t like that people could always reach you through email.  And who needs a camera all the time?  But they have their uses.”  He dropped Joffrey’s fist and casually reached into his pocket.  He pulled out his phone and tapped the screen.  “Voice memos, for example.  Good for recording a lecture you don’t want to pay attention to, or someone threatening physical violence.  This,” he waved the phone casually in Joffrey’s face, “syncs automatically to a cloud account.  If case the phone disappears, I don’t lose the data on it.  Useful, I think.  Because you could steal this right now, or break it in my hand, and I’d still have everything you’ve said to me for the past twenty minutes.

“You aren’t going to touch Sansa.  You’re not going to send your goons after her.  Or believe me, you will pay.”

Gendry moved slowly back to the bench, riveted.

Joffrey’s face was ugly with rage. 

After a moment, he said, “I see what you’re doing.”

“Glad you’re not an idiot then.  Might actually let you finish your education.”

“You’re going to tell her about this.  You’re going to tell her that you’ve saved her and then she’ll have to pay you back somehow.  You’re not _better_ than me, or whatever the fuck you think you are.  You’re trying to manipulate her.”

Ned raised his eyebrows, and his voice was so cold that Gendry could scarcely believe that it was him speaking.  “Don’t you see?  It’s never been about wanting to fuck her, you vile piece of shit.  But you’re too blind to see that.”  Ned turned and said over his shoulder, “Stay the fuck away from her.”  And he strode away briskly, his hands balled into fists.

Joffrey stood very still for a moment or two, then he spat harshly on the ground and turned in the opposite direction.

Gendry was glued to the bench, his mind reeling.

His immediate reaction was that he needed to tell Arya.  Now.  So that she could sic the fencing team on Joffrey, just in case he wasn’t fully bound by Ned’s threats.

But that might put in jeopardy those plans, a possibility that was just as dangerous.

He remembered Sansa’s face when he had found her in December, horrified and panicking.  And he realized what he had to do.

_Gendry Waters: Not staying on campus.  Will either be at home or your place._

He grabbed his bicycle and rode as quickly as he could over to the Arya’s house.  He grabbed the spare key that they had hidden in the sideboards of the porch and let himself in.

“Hello,” he called.

“Hi,” called Roslin from the kitchen.  “Arya’s at practice.”

“I know that.  I’m actually looking for Sansa.  Is she here?”

“Upstairs, maybe?”

He took the stairs three at a time and knocked on the door.  When Sansa bade him enter, he pushed the door open. 

Sansa was sitting on the floor, papers spread around her.

“Hello,” she smiled up at him.  “Haven’t seen you lately.  Everything ok?”

“Yeah.  I…Can I sit?”

“Sure?  What’s wrong?”

“I don’t really know…I feel I should tell you…” he took a deep breath.  “I don’t really know if I should be telling you this.  Don’t freak out on me.”

She stared at him blankly, then, hesitatingly, “Spit it out.”

He told her everything.

Her face was motionless, and about halfway through she closed her eyes.  When he was done telling, she said nothing.  She just breathed in and out and in and out, her eyes closed and her face blank.

“So he was planning something then.”

“I guess so, yes,” replied Gendry, as gently as he could manage.

“And he actually told Ned about it?”

“To some extent, apparently.”

Sansa’s eyes opened, and, to Gendry’s surprise, they were thoughtful.  Then, her expression changed and she rolled her eyes.

“I’m not about to go nuts on you again, Gendry.  You can stop looking like a concerned chicken.”

“Chicken?” sputtered Gendry.

“Well…bearded chicken.”  She winked.  Then her expression grew thoughtful again.  “I was just thinking—it’s strange how much of a relief this is.”

“A relief?”  Gendry was astonished.  All right, maybe not astonished, but somewhere just short of there.

“Yes.  I’ve been spending so much of the semester trying to distract myself, trying not to think about Joff being back.  But he is, and I think I was nervous that he was just pretending like nothing had happened.”

“Sound’s like he’s pretty hung up on it.”

“He should be.  He’s a gross human being.  He _should_ be hung up on it.”

“I don’t think he’s hung up on it in that way.  I think he’s angry to have been caught, Sansa.”

“Yes.  I know.  That’s what I mean.  He needs to know that he can’t get away with that.  He needs to know that no one thinks that its ok, and that if he tries it again, anywhere, someone will stand up to him.  Even if he thinks they won’t, they will.

“He’s a bully, Gendry.  Bully’s only respond to strength.”

“I don’t think that means he will never do it again.”

A shadow passed over her face.  “The truth is, he probably will.  And he may come after me again, when we’re out of here, or something.  I don’t know.  But,” she bit her lip, “he knows I am not alone this time.  That there are people who will take care of me.”

“Didn’t Robb take care of you?  Theon?” Gendry asked before he could stop himself.

“I didn’t tell them until after the fact, so they couldn’t.  But my family knows now.  And Arya’d kill him if he tried to touch me.  And…And even if Ned’s not there to defend me, I’ll always tell other people.  I don’t want to hide it from them.  I did nothing to be ashamed of.  Joffrey did.  So they should make him ashamed of it.”

They sat in silence for a while.  Then Sansa spoke again. “Let me tell Arya.”

“You got it.”

“You know—I wonder…”

“Yes?” prompted Gendry.

And her eyes were light.  Gendry didn’t think he’d ever seen her eyes light before.  It served such a stark contrast from when he had found her last December.

“I…I wonder why he did it.  Ned, I mean.  I…” and she blushed.

Gendry raised an eyebrow.

“You know, I’m not party to your Girl’s Night conversations, nor do I want to be, so either spit it out or keep it in.  Don’t leave me hanging like this.  That’s rude.”

Sansa rolled her eyes again.  “I just wondered if he did it because he liked me, or because he is just my friend.”

Gendry shrugged.  “I can pretty honestly say I have no idea.”

Sansa snorted.

“I suppose that’s true.”

“Yep.”

“You’re not as fun to girl-talk with as Roslin, you know.”

“Good.”

And Sansa burst out laughing.  “Sorry,” she gasped, choking on laughter, trying to hid her smile behind a hand.  “You just had such an Arya expression on your face.”

It was Gendry's turn to roll his eyes, and Sansa positively keeled over laughing.

When she settled slightly, Gendry asked, “Are you going to be all right?”

The smile disappeared from her eyes, but her jaw was set in a way that he recognized instantly.  It was Arya’s stubborn face, and the look that Jon got when he was trying to convince Aurane that pants would really be a good idea.

“Yes.”  Her voice was even and her expression steely.  “And gods save him if I’m not.”

Goose bumps erupted over Gendry’s forearms.

She took a deep breath and stood up.  “I’m going to go for a walk,” she announced.  “And before you ask if I’ll be safe—because I know you are—I’m _always_ safe when I walk alone at night.  I know how to do that now.”

Gendry followed her out of her room and waved goodbye to her.

He then he walked down the hallway to Arya’s room and pushed open the door.

It was a mess.  That made him smile.  He sat down on her bed and ran his fingers over the bright green comforter.  Then he sent her a text.

_Gendry Waters: Am at yours._

Then he lay down on the bed that smelled so much like Arya it made his heart race and stared at the ceiling, waiting for her.


	27. Edric

Ned was still reeling when he dropped his fencing bag at the foot of his bed.

_I’m going to make her come back to me, and then I’ll fuck her again.  Hard too.  She’ll scream._

He glanced at his computer screen to make sure that the sound file had uploaded to his cloud account the way he had threatened.

He really wished that he had punched Joffrey.  He knew that it was theoretically a good thing that he hadn’t.  No assault charges would be pressed, for example.  But he had been suffering through what Pod had termed a testosterone-fuelled-rage-monster-mood for the past four hours.  Dacey had been mildly impressed with the results of it, but he felt thoroughly shitty and he didn’t know why.

He had won, right?  He’d checked Joffrey, hadn’t he?  Sansa was safe now.

So then why did he feel like nothing?

He sat glumly on his bed, running his fingers over his keyboard, wondering what he could do to distract himself. 

There was no email from Sansa.  Somewhere after the email where she had tried coffee for the first time, they had gotten into a conversation that was now discussing the different kinds of pinecones near Winterfell.  He didn’t really care about the pinecones.  He did care about the laughter he could feel in Sansa’s words.

He enjoyed making her laugh.  He adored seeing her smile.  He loved that look on her face that she got, when she realized that she was genuinely happy and, in realizing it, radiated ecstasy.

He leaned back and knocked his head against the wall behind him.  Hard.  It didn’t hurt enough to knock the image of a smiling Sansa out of his mind’s eye.

He could never tell her, of course.

Not that he loved her, not that he would go through hell for her, not that he had bested Joffrey for her. 

Nope.  He could never tell her.

He’d always imagined himself to be a confident fellow, and someone who didn’t have trouble with girls.  That had certainly always been his experience.  But he didn’t think he could handle her vivid expressions cooling, her eyes distancing, and her mouth saying something to the effect of “she was flattered, but no.”  He couldn’t bring himself to do that to her—couldn’t bring himself to force her to reject him, whether because she was not ready to date anyone or because she, like her sister, just didn’t want him.  She would feel terrible rejecting him, he knew that, and he knew that their friendship would suffer for it.

So he would not put her in that position.

Allyria had once told him that love was something bigger than you—something bigger than ego, bigger than hope, bigger than dreams.  Maybe that was why she had fallen into such a deep depression.  But he knew what she meant now.  He knew that his love for Sansa was too much for him to say, and that he’d just sit there and keep her safe until she found someone (and tore his heart out).

He saw her smiling her brilliant smile at him and he felt, if it was possible, even shittier than before.

Deciding he needed to something, anything, he climbed off his bed and stood in the middle of his room.

He didn’t want to go for a run.  His legs were tired.  He’d fenced hard.  But he didn’t want to be staring at his computer screen waiting or her to email him.

A shower, then.

He’d taken a shower after practice, but showers after practice were short and to the point.  You couldn’t stand under the water and let it calm you down because the other guys would accuse you of masturbating.

He had just tugged his shirt off when there was a knock on the door.

He pulled it open and found Sansa standing there, her hair windswept and a light behind her eyes that he had not seen before and which really did the most unfair things to his pulse. 

“Hello,” he said, somewhat breathlessly.

“Hi.  Can I…come in?”  Her eyes ducked and he saw them dripping over his chest.  It felt rather like a punch in the gut.

He stepped aside and she crossed over and sat on his bed. 

He almost reached for his shirt again, but decided against it.  He sat at his desk and watched her.  She was fiddling with the buttons of her cardigan.

“Everything ok?” he asked.

“Gendry told me,” she said calmly.  Her blue eyes lifted to his.

“I’m not following.”

“Gendry told me about well… earlier.”

“Still not following.”

“Gendry overheard you and Joffrey.”

What?  That made no sense.  Ned had been careful not to have their argument where someone could see…unless…

“Has Gendry grown a beard?”

“Yes.”

“Ah.”

He watched her, not saying anything. 

“Thank you,” she whispered.  And his heart melted.

“Of course.”

And her eyes were suddenly very bright, and he thought she might cry.

“You—” she stopped.  “You are always more than I expect, and every time it happens I—”  She took a deep breath.  “Can you put a shirt on, you’re distracting me?  Wait.  No.  Don’t.  Never mind.”

Ned tilted his head, his brow furrowed.  Sansa continued.  “I guess what I’m trying to say.  In the least coherent way imaginable is.”  She stopped again, and looked like she were teetering over some very thin precipice.

“Yes?”

And he was lost in those blue eyes, eyes which looked like the sky over the sea, eyes which he had seen very pained.  But right now, they were full of joy and something else.

“I don’t know how I lucked out and got you as a friend, because I really don’t deserve it.”

“First of all, that’s not true.  Second of all, you _do_ deserve it—more than anyone I know.  And thirdly, I know that’s not what you were about to say.”

Sansa rolled her eyes.  They settled on the left side of his chest.

“Stop ogling me and avoiding the conversation, Sansa.”

She blushed.

_Why did she always have to blush?_

“I like ogling you.”  She looked up at him and his heart leapt into his throat.

“Thanks.”

“My pleasure.  Really.  My pleasure.”

“What were you going to say Sansa?”

“I really think you should go shirtless more often.”

It pained him to say it, but he had to.  Or else this would end badly, and it would probably be all his fault.  “Stop trying to flirt me away from the topic at hand.”

She took a deep breath and a shadow crossed over her face.

“You’ll find that it was actually very relevant for what I was going to say,” she mumbled.  He didn’t say anything.  “I was going to say that I’m a little bit in love with you, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

And suddenly she wasn’t looking at him, and she was talking very fast, and she was blushing the deepest red he’d ever seen and he felt a smile spread slowly across his face.

“I‘ve been scared of it, you see,” she was saying, “I don’t know if I can do it, and I don’t know if I’m ready, and I keep telling myself that you don’t feel the same way, and I keep convincing myself that it’s not worth the trouble of telling you and,” she took a deep breath, “I realized today that whether or not you feel the same way, you deserve to know.  Because you’ve been…you’ve been doing whatever for me and it’s not fair if I’m not honest with you.”

She peeked at him from under her eyelashes.  Then, she smiled.  It started off small, then it grew and he knew that it had to be because she could see what his face was doing better than he could.  And he was sure that his face could only be representing the joy pumping violently out of his heart.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” he said.  She nodded, still smiling.  “And you know I know that right?” she nodded again.  “And you know I don’t care, right?”

He hadn’t thought it possible, but her smile spread even wider.  Then her eyes grew bright again, and her eyelids fluttering.  “Sorry,” her voice was thick.  “It’ll pass.”

“Everything all right?”

“Just happy.”

And then suddenly, she was on her feet again, and crossing the room.  She was sitting on his lap and throwing her arms around his neck, and he buried his face into her soft hair.

It smelled like lemon and mint and Sansa.

“You really should go shirtless more often,” she said in his ear.

He chuckled and pulled back, his eyes flickering between hers.  “For you, I’ll consider it.”

Very gently, very carefully, he pressed his mouth to hers. 

He felt her stiffen in his arms.  But she did not move away, she did not let go.  And very slowly, very tentatively, she relaxed slightly, and ran the tip of her tongue over his lips.


	28. Arya

_Gendry Waters: Unlike some people I know, I don’t have binoculars.  What’s the note in your window say?_

_Arya Stark: Don’t know what you’re talking about, but I will bring over my binoculars when I stop by later._

_Gendry Waters: Humph.  Tease._

Arya smiled and tucked her phone into her back pocket and returned to her reading.  She glanced at her watch.  If she was productive for the next three hours, she’d be at Gendry’s before the sun went down.  The sun needed to still be up for him to read the note.

She had been planning this for a week.  She already had the binoculars in her bookbag.  She had even gone so far as to run it by Roslin, who had approved tremendously.

She rolled over on the grass, putting her Historical Linguistics reading between her face and the late April sunshine.  She was determined to do better on her finals this semester than she had last semester, but knew that she was fighting the same battle as before: the battle that comes from choosing between studying and her boyfriend.

It didn’t help that the sunshine was so tempting either.

She heard people playing Frisbee across the quad, she heard giggling and laughter.  Someone was even blaring some truly atrocious rock music out of the window of their dorm, but none of that distracted her as much as what she had planned.

She sighed.

Maybe if grammar reconstructions were half so interesting as Gendry, she would be able to focus on them more easily.  But that was unlikely.

It was really ridiculous, actually.  How distracting he was, even if he wasn’t anywhere near her.  She’d used to make fun of Sansa and Jeyne Poole for their boy-craziness.  She, Arya Stark, would _never_ let any boy or man distract her from her own pursuits, her own desires.

She’d never imagined that Gendry would epitomize those pursuits, those desires.  But not in the creepy way, not in the way that was self-effacing.  She still fenced, she still studied, she still played with dogs and made fun of Sansa for always focusing on style.

But now, something in her was different.  Maybe it had grown there, maybe it had been forced into her, (fucked into her?) but somehow now she was beginning to imagine Gendry as fundamentally part of her life as Jon, or as Nymeria, or maybe even her own left hand.  And then it had clicked.

The problem was that now _that_ was distracting her, and she really needed not to be distracted.

_Arya Stark: Can’t focus.  Good or bad to go sooner?_

_Roslin Frey: Good.  Always good.  ;-)_

_Arya Stark: Please don’t emoticon at me.  You know how that makes me feel._

_Roslin Frey: Bite me.  ;-P_

Arya rolled her eyes, and closed her book.  She stared at the sky for a moment.  It was as blue as Sansa’s eyes.  (Ned had taken to talking about that.  She would never forgive him for putting it in her head.)

She hopped to her feet, slipped her feet into her sandals and made her way back off campus.

Cuddly.  That was what she had thought at first.  He makes me feel cuddly.  Like I can cuddle, and like someone can cuddle back.  And it’s just the two of us.  She had mentioned it to Sansa one day, and had watched the broad grin cross her sister’s face.

She had asked what the grin was about, and Sansa had shrugged and said, “You’ll figure it out.”

That had pissed her off.

But she had figured it out, and whenever she thought about it, she felt as though she could leap into the sky she was so happy.

She slipped into the Bastard House.  Jon was asleep on the couch.  Ghost was lying on the ground next to him.  The dog raised his head from the floor, wagged his tale slightly, but didn’t move.  She patted Ghost on the head, and kissed Jon’s cheek.  He made a tired noise, and opened a bleary eye.

“What was that for?” he mumbled.

“Just felt like it.”

“Are you feeling ok?  Ow!  There was no need to do that!”  She had pinched him before crossing the room.  But not even Jon’s teasing could bring her down. 

Today, she was unstoppable.

She poked her head into Gendry’s room.  He was typing intensely on his computer.  His beard was not well trimmed, and his hair was sticking up on end from all the times he had clearly run his hands through his hair.

She slipped across the room, quiet as a cat, quiet as a shadow.  “Are the people upsetting you?” she murmured into his ear.

He started, and without turning to look at her slipped his hands back behind him to find hers. 

“I’m almost done,” he whispered.  “Can you wait five minutes?”

“Yes.”

He went back to typing and she placed the binoculars on his desk next to him, then went to sat on his bed.

She waited.

She hated waiting, especially for this. 

She watched his hands hover over the keyboard, not sure what he wanted to say, then the typing would begin again.  She watched him reach for his mug of coffee and take a deep sip, rereading what he had just written.

And she waited.

Waited for him to sigh, and stretch and reach for the binoculars.

Waited for him to turn around and harass her about leaving a note he couldn’t read from his bedroom window.

Waited for him to look.

He twisted in his seat, his eyes closed, forcing his back to crack.  He twisted from one side, and then to the other, then cracked his neck from one side, then to the other. 

Then he continued typing.

She had been waiting for nearly twenty minutes when he closed his computer, and reached for the binoculars.

She watched him raise them to his eyes, watched him read the words she had taped to her window, written in the smallest handwriting she could manage just so she could have this moment. 

Watching him read _I love you._

He sat very still drinking in the words, then he slowly placed the binoculars on the desk again. 

There was wonder and delight in his eyes when he turned around, and for the first time in months he looked genuinely happy.

“Really?” he breathed.

She nodded, and she felt the corners of her mouth rise, felt her smile widening to match the one spreading across his face. 

And his arms were around her, and his lips were on hers in a kiss so deep she shivered down to her core.  His fingers were clutching at her back, and her arms were pinned to her sides and the only thing she could do was slide her tongue into his mouth, as far as he would let it before his began to wrap itself around hers.

She wasn’t sure who initiated the movement—it could have been her, it could have been him, it could have been them moving together in complete and perfect understanding.  She wasn’t sure.  But she was on her back and he was pressing down onto her, his hands trailing fire up and down her arms.

Freed from the lock of his embrace, she ran her fingers through his hair.  It was softer than usual—probably because he’d been working too hard to wash it—and it felt like silk under her fingertips.  She rubbed her fingertips into his scalp, massaging at his skin and he moaned into her mouth.

His cock was stiffening near the middle of her thigh, and she rubbed her leg against it.  His hand slipped underneath her tshirt, and she could feel him smiling when he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra.

He pulled back gently and arched an eyebrow at her.  “I wasn’t doing anything active today.  I saw no need.”  And he chuckled and tugged her shirt up.  Then he shifted further down the bed and his mouth was on one nipple, with his finger swirling around the other. 

Neither was gentle (she didn’t like it gentle) but both were reverent in a way she hadn’t expected.  Her breath hitched, her heartbeat increased and her clit began to throb.

She tried to find his cock with her leg again, but he was between her legs, pressed against the bed.  She opened her eyes ever so slightly, and was displeased that he was still wearing a shirt.  She pulled it off, and when he lifted his mouth from her nipple to let the shirt lose, she caught his lips with hers and pushed, rolling him over and sitting astride his stomach.  

But his mouth departed hers and returned to her breasts before she was ready.  She sat there, trembling, running her fingers over his chest. 

Then a hand were slipping under her pants, slipping down to her wet cleft, then bringing some of the moisture back to her clit and circling.

She growled.

He had once laughed at her for growling.  Sometimes, he still did.  Now was not one of those times.

“That’s it,” he mumbled into her breasts, and his hands were tugging at the remainders of her clothes.  When she was naked, she pulled off his sweatpants and boxers.  While he reached for his bedside table and the box of condoms that sat in the drawer, she drew him into her mouth and sucked, relishing the salty taste of pre-cum on her tongue, the sensation of feeling his racing heartbeat through the veins in his cock.

He pulled away from her, and she saw him rolling latex down his length.  She moved up the bed again, slipping her tongue into his mouth.  He rolled over and was on top of her again, in her again.

They did not usually have sex with him on top—it was not the most comfortable for either of them, simply because of their difference in heights.  But the moment he was inside her, as deep as he could go, she slipped her legs up so that her ankles rested on his shoulders.

His lips met hers, and she felt his torso pulling away so that he could kiss her as he fucked her.  Made love to her?  Did they make love?  Could you make love while your ankles were sitting on your boyfriend’s shoulders?

But his kisses were telling her yes, and as his hips moved almost painfully slowly and one finger was stroking lazily at her clit.

She was trembling, and trying to keep her breathing as even as she could when Gendry began to move faster, as his cock began to push deeper, as his grunts became louder, as his breaths grew ragged, as his finger on her clit grew more and more insistent.

And then she was flying, her blood roaring in her ear, her stomach and legs and cunt throbbing.  He kept pushing, his finger kept circling, even though she had dropped her hand to his to try and pull it away from her over sensitive skin. 

He didn’t let her move his hand though, and even as she pulled her mouth away from his to berate him, her back arched and pleasure flooded through her again, stronger than it had the first time.  Her blood was hot ice, and she could feel every inch of herself because even the tiniest vein in her body seemed to be pulsating as hard as her clit.  Her lips, her nipples, the tips of her toes—even that weird knob on her ankle that no one knows the name of. 

Maybe she was calling out to him, maybe she wasn’t.  Her vocal chords seemed to be doing something though, and then with one final thrust into her, he his voice joined hers and he finished, his face contorted in pleasure.

He shifted her legs off his shoulders before collapsing onto her.  They lay like that for a while, letting their heartbeats calm, letting their breathing regulate.

“I love you,” she whispered into his chest.

His arms tightened around her.  “I love it when you say that.”

“I love you,” she said again, a little louder.  “Also, that was mindblowing.”

He rolled her on top of him, grinning.  “Indeed.”

“We should do that more often.”

“I think we can arrange that.”

She shivered, and his lips twitched.  “You know, if you keep shivering like that, we’re never going to leave this bed, ever.”

“Well, that would leave wall-sex out of the picture.  And you do know how much I love wall-sex.”

He chuckled.  “I’d make exceptions for wall-sex.”

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”

“I love everything that involves you.”

Once again, she was struck by just how blue his eyes were.  How blue and how honest and how tender and how loving.

And she shivered.

“All right, you asked for it,” and his lips were on hers again.


	29. Sansa

**May**

There were three things that Sansa liked about Ned Dayne.  (Well, more than that, but three things that made her feel particularly warm and fuzzy.)

The first was a silly one—he had a tendency for over-dramatic chivalry.  She blamed Dornish passion; he blamed her.  At first, she had thought that it would get old when he would insist upon opening doors with a bow and flourish for her, or pulling out seats for her, or threatening to impale people with his sword for her.  But it never did. 

Sometimes, she would laugh and shoo him away because dammit she was a modern woman and could sit herself down without help, thank you very much.  At others, she would let him take care of her because he wanted to so badly.

The second was one that warmed her, one that made hear heart race.  He was always touching her.

Not _that_ _way_ —though she was sure he would do that happily too.  Indeed, the fact that he did not touch her _that way_ made her feel, if anything even more cherished.  That she was to be respected.

No, it was the little touches.  Him taking her hand when they were walking, or slipping his arm over her shoulder when they were curled up on his bed, watching episodes of _Lannisport Watchdogs_ on his computer, supporting the small of her back when she was climbing up the stairs in front of him. 

Maybe he would tuck flyaway strands of her hair (growing past her shoulders, at last) behind her ears.  She liked it best when he did that, because she would stand on tiptoes to kiss him.

She liked standing on tip-toes to kiss him.  She liked that he would pretend for a moment that it was just a peck, something dutiful in gratitude for a kindness, but then his hands would settle on her hips and hers would rise to his (well muscled) chest and the kiss would deepen.

The third was a serious one.

Whenever he thought she wasn’t looking—whenever she was absorbed in her research, or on the phone with mum or Jeyne, or cooking herself dinner before Ballroom—he watched her.

It was not the kind of watching that Joffrey had done.  Not the careless glances, or the predatory glares that she had once loved but which had eventually made her skin crawl.  No.  It was a deep kind of watching, the kind that seemed to aim not at the skin but at the soul, and which left Sansa feeling positively stripped bare before him.

But it was not the same kind of being stripped bare as had happened in the park, not the kind that made her want to curl up into a ball and hide away from the intensity of what was happening to her.

At first it scared her almost as much as that kind.  At first, she had felt a stiffening in her back, a quieting of her mind and a clammy cool on the surface of her throat.  She had been standing in the kitchen, her hair tied as best she could into a Lyseni braid, and she had suddenly felt as though the room were icy cold, even though she was standing over a pot of boiling water.

When she looked at him, she knew her face was blank, she could see it reflected in his eyes.

They were very large, his eyes, blue in some light, purple in others.  Dark, no matter which color you chose, especially in his tanned face with his bright blond hair.  Brighter hair than Joff’s, but darker skin and darker eyes.  Eyes that didn’t stare at her with hunger and disdain, but rather with calm and contemplation.

She had spent such a long time hoping to avoid being contemplated.

She wasn’t a broken little girl who needed to be analyzed.  She just wanted to be taken at face value.

And for the most part he did, except when he thought she wasn’t looking.

And for that, she loved him.

“You know, clouds are weird.”

And then he had to go and say silly things like that.

They were lying on the quad on a Sunday afternoon, blatantly ignoring the final paper they ought to be writing for Environmental History.  One of his hands was sitting on top of hers, and the tip of his thumb was twitching over her skin.

“Oh?  How so.”

“They’re fluffy, but they’re made of water.”

“You’re a right genius, you are,” she giggled.

“Just some things you think about.”

“No.  Just some things _you_ think about.”  She pinched him.  He yelped.

“What was _that_ for?”

“Fluffy, but made of water?” and she was laughing.

He made her laugh.  Maybe she should add that to the list.  She’d never been good at laughter.  At _fake_ laughter, yes.  The shrill giggles that one expects from one’s friends when talking about penises, for examples.  But the kind of laughter that you couldn’t control?  She’d been bad at that most of her life.

She had always thought that it was because she didn’t find things funny.

But really, it was because she hadn’t met Ned.

When she finished laughing, she stared up at the clouds in the sky.  They were perfectly white and fluffy and looked like cotton candy lumps sitting on blue porcelain.

“Now that you mention it…” she began.

“See?  I told you!  Fuckin’ weird.”

“Well, I don’t know about _fucking_ weird, but I’ll give you _pretty damn_ weird.  Compromise?”

“You got it.”

She turned her face towards him and beamed.  She liked that she could beam again.  It had happened for the first time a few weeks before when she had been talking to him.  She had known it was back because he had stopped in the middle of the word, blinked three times and then tried to remember what he had been saying with a dazed look on his face. 

She hadn’t beamed in so long, not really. She’d pretended to beam, but she knew it wasn’t the same because she couldn’t stop men in their tracks the way she had been able to before Joffrey.  She had told herself it didn’t matter, and that it was not very nice of her to want to beam a man speechless.  In truth, though, she had missed it tremendously.  And she beamed for Ned.

He was watching her again, a tinge of humor to the contemplative purple.  (Purple today.  When the sky was this blue, they had to be purple.)  He was used to her beams now (or at least, able to maintain a stream of thought through them).  They always brought a quiet smile to his face—the one that made her melt a little bit inside.  (She imagined that was what she thought must happen to him when she beamed.)

Now was no different.  They smiled at each other, utterly blissful.  Then, she leaned over and kissed him, smiling into his mouth.

It was a short kiss.  It was hard to kiss when you were not quite lying down on the grass, and you were lying at a funny angle to the person you were kissing.  But his tongue teasing her lips sent shivers down to the very tips of her toes.

When she pulled away she shifted slightly curling up against him.

His arm slipped over her shoulders, and they looked up at the endless blue sky and the (weird) clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well,
> 
> That's it folks. There are no plans for a sequel at this point. I might oneshot some stuff, but I make no promises.
> 
> It's been truly wonderful!
> 
> -c


End file.
